A Worthwhile Experiment
by gingerbritishgypsyelf
Summary: Sherlock agrees that Irene should keep the child they conceived quite by accident, convincing himself (and her) that it is only an experiment. As the story progresses, we all hope to see this fade. Post-Reichenbach. A nanny cares for the child as Irene and Sherlock drawing closer to each other, and they slowly accept parenthood. Potential T for later chapters.
1. An Experiment

Diificulties

Fingers steepled together, face drawn and pale, Sherlock Holmes sat on the sofa in the living room of 22B Baker Street. John tapped away on his computer, typing up a blog post for their most recent adventure. Apart from the steady clacking of plastic keys, the flat was completely silent. John shot a glance at Sherlock. He had been unusually quiet in the past few days, even for himself, and the doctor was fairly certain he hadn't used the word "bored" in at least three days. The experiments were on hold and though he hadn't eaten, drank, or smoked, he had slapped on another nicotine patch and sat unmoving on the couch in his dressing gown.

"Sherlock?"

"Save the concern please John. I'm fine. I'm thinking."

Sighing, John rolled his eyes.

"All right. Don't mind me. Just looking out for your health. When was the last time you-"

"Slept? Fifty-three hours ago. Once I reach sixty or seventy I'll consider sleeping but for now my brain is functioning perfectly and sleeping would interrupt the process."

"Right."

John typed a few more lines, and after a few mouse clicks and the snap of him closing his laptop, he stood. Straightening his jumper, he looked over at Sherlock.

"Got a date tonight. Might not be back til late."

Sherlock grunted a noncommittal reply and stood as well, meandering over to his violin. Dragging the bow gently across the strings, he began to play. It was nothing in particular really, just following a chord progression, then countering it, jumping scales and it slipped into being some composer John had probably never heard of. Pulling on a coat, John Watson tossed Sherlock a final glance and left the flat.

He had been playing for maybe fifteen minutes when a telltale moan came from the pocket of his dressing gown.

I see John has left.

Sherlock tapped back on the keyboard, violin tucked under one arm.

Date of some kind. Won't be back til late.

-SH

Another moan signaled her reply.

Put the kettle on then.

He resumed his playing and soon heard a window open, then shut. Her boots made soft noises on the floor and he turned, lowering his bow.

"Miss Adler."

"Mr. Holmes," she replied.

It was a long and complicated story which Sherlock preferred not to revisit because of all the deceitful sentiment involved, but he and Irene Adler were not unaccustomed to meeting now and again, whether she was dead or not. He had been dead for awhile, but her death kept her safe and his brother happy so she claimed a new alias and had since reconnected with the consulting detective.

"I have thought about your offer." She chuckled and sauntered into the kitchen to put the kettle on. He hadn't bothered to do so and she knew it.

"Well it's not entirely your decision, but your thoughts are appreciated." Was she being sarcastic or sincere? He wasn't entirely sure.

"I think you're correct. It is certainly an interesting experiment. And the world could use less stupid people. I've already made my contribution so I fail to see what I can to to assist you from this point."

"A few ways, actually."

The kettle began to scream and then clicked itself off. Pouring water into her mug, she stared at him over the steam with wide dark eyes and rosy cheeks from the blustery rain outside.

His eyes flickered over her and though he was certain of at least one of her requests, this was not his area. However, he had his pride and instead of asking her, he raised a single dark eyebrow.

"Money, naturally. Aliases that I can attain for you. A place to live, perhaps."

"All appreciated Mr. Holmes but none of those is what I would like from you."

"Then what is that?"

"A signature, an approval, and to keep this from the good doctor until I deem it necessary."

"Approval for what?"

"Not paternity, Mr. Holmes. You and I both have our enemies and our past lives. I think we need to keep our little experiment so it lives with neither of us. I already have a safe home and a woman picked out to care for the child, I just would like your take on her. After all...this is your child she'll be caring for."

"A nanny?" Sherlock scoffed. "Caring for a child isn't difficult. It needs to be fed, cleaned, and exercised, much like John but hopefully with less complaining."

Her lips thinned by a millimeter or so but he still noted and cataloged her annoyance, not bothering to determine why she was irritated. Pregnant women were irrational, at least he assumed as much. He understood the biology of pregnancy and all the different hormones and chemicals in her brain were certainly not contributing to stability. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"I thought you might care about the well-being of your future son or daughter."

"I do believe you said it was an experiment. We have admitted no sentiment between us and I have no intention to start now."

Irene's lips thinned more and she nodded.

"So in monitoring your experiment in genetics, would you care to know how the child is progressing or will it only interest you after birth?"

"Prenatal development should be monitored of course. And you should breastfeed the child for at least six months. It's better for immune system and brain development."

"We'll discuss that when the time comes."

Sherlock shrugged and went back to his violin.

Barely concealing a snarl, Irene typed a text, finished her tea, and left without a sound. Sherlock pretended not to notice her absence but once the door shut, he allowed his body to relax. It wouldn't do to allow sentiment into the strange relationship with Irene Adler and letting her see even a crack in his shell was a concession he was not willing to make.

In a small, ratty flat on the outskirts of London, barely even within the city limits, a cell phone beeped, alerting its owner to a new message.

It would be long-term, a 5-year minimum.

With an excited smile, Lily Wallace texted back, double-checking her spelling and grammar three times before she hit the 'send' key.

Sounds excellent. When would you like to meet to sign the contract?


	2. A Meeting

Meeting and Approval

"Lillian Wallace," the young woman said, sticking out her hand. Sherlock ignored it and instead took in all the little details.

..._Fingernails recently clipped, clothing older but not ragged, smells faintly of rain and a trace of cigarette smoke—roommate smokes. Doesn't come from money; perhaps middle class but on the low end. Natural brunette, highlights also natural. Right handed, has a medium-sized dog, male corgi, named something she thought was unique, probably a literary character as Literature was her minor. Very well read. Double major, Psychology and History. Had her school fees paid by some sort of grant or benefactor. Oldest of a large family, eight? Seven. One with some sort of disability—autism? Retardation? Uncertain. Single. Works part time in both a bookshop and greenhouse. Grows flowers—orchids. Roses too. Calm disposition, slow to anger, tolerant, higher than average intelligence, nurturing... _

After lowering her hand, Lily smiled. She was certainly used to nonstandard behavior. Her little sister was autistic and she had volunteered at the school where her sister attended. Odd behavior was certainly nothing new to her. She studied the tall man with the sharp cheekbones. She didn't follow the news much but she knew he was Sherlock Holmes and that he was some kind of genius detective.

The woman who had originally contacted her, Alice Bates, was an odd match for the detective, but Lily knew better than to judge. People fell in love despite differences all the time. She looked back at her potential employer, then at the detective, and instead sat down at one of the chairs in the private little cafe. She ordered a coffee, black, and a small pastry.

..._Accustomed to being careful with money. Has a sweet tooth but won't waste her sugar fix on coffee. French, half. Mother's side. Fluent in the language as evidenced by how she pronounced the name of the pastry. Has worked as a waitress, polite to the help. Smiled at the end of her order—friendliness not flirtation..._

Alice, whom Mr. Holmes only occasionally referred to verbally, communicating with her mostly by glances and facial expressions, asked most of the questions.

"Can you nurse the child if I cannot? You may end up having him or her within the week of birth and I've been told breastfeeding is better for the immune system and brain development."

Lily considered momentarily.

"From what I understand, I would have to take some sort of medication or drug to instruct my body to produce milk."

"Any expenses will be taken care of. The question is, can you do it?"

"If it is necessary, yes."

"Are you opposed to the idea?"

Lily considered for another moment.

"It makes me uncomfortable in that I will be inexperienced, but I'm not opposed to being a wet nurse."

There were a few more questions, discussion of pay and commitment, days off, specific requests, and the location and arrangements for living. Lily wanted permission to bring her corgi, Pan. Alice wanted her to be up to date on the pregnancy and prenatal development and potentially when or shortly after the birth. It took a little over an hour and Alice promised to call her when they had confirmed employment.

With a thankful smile, Lily got up, shook Alice's hand and nodded politely to Mr. Holmes before walking off, hope putting a spring in her step.

Once she had walked away, Irene turned to Sherlock.

"Alice Bates?" He asked dryly.

"Even if she was well-informed about scandal I still wouldn't want her to know that alias."

"She suspects I am the father but is unsure."

"I haven't told her who you are yet, only that you are a close friend. I'm sure if necessary I could induce her to believe you were gay."

"Unnecessary. She knows the child is of import to me."

Irene sipped the dregs of her tea and glanced over at hi again.

"Do you approve?"

"She will nurture the child's intelligence and be tolerant and forgiving of any personality traits that it may inherit from me. She will nurture it, which is important for development at least, and she's not an idiot. Her intelligence will likely be lower than the child's, given our combined intellects, but she will be satisfactory, at least while it is still young."

Irene took the musing as an approval.

"Excellent. I'll tell her she's hired."

"You have my approval. Is there anything else?."

Knowing she would get no more out of him, certainly not sentiment, she shook her head.

"Until next time."

He didn't respond, only adjusted his scarf and walked down the street, hailing a cab on the corner.

_Let a man come back from the grave once and he grows an ego, _Irene thought.

The ego had come long before Sherlock's fall and subsequent rebirth, but it didn't help that his belief in the higher power of himself was even surer than before, so certain of his indestructibility.

Irene lay a hand on the gentle curve of her belly, hidden by designer-cut flowing garments and stitching that subtly drew the eye away from the waist. This child's conception had been a one-time occurrence which Sherlock consistently pretended never happened. Irene recalled though, his eyes widening, his hands compulsively clenching on her hips as he lost his virginal title, growling her name like a curse, then moaning it like a prayer. She recalled his sentiment, the slip he considered shameful, as he kissed her and ran his hands over her body, exploring, wondering. As a woman who worked in the sex trade, she was on birth control and often insisted on condoms in the case of penetrative sex, but in the rush and amazement of Sherlock dropping his exterior, of succumbing to her eagerly, she had mentally checked that she had been consistently taking her pill, then once it was confirmed, decided against stopping the session to go out and get more protection—he was sure to not have any in his room and would likely regain himself if she asked.

He had been more surprised than she, evidenced by little cues that few others would pick up on. The way his shoulders tensed almost invisibly, the rock-hard solidity of his voice, the brevity of language that was overly short even for him. And then there had been the uncertainty in his eyes, the mixed curiosity of the prospect of a child with his mind combined with the fear that it would be a constant reminder of his singular slip into sentiment.

She had decided she was keeping it almost without thought. If it had been any other man, perhaps not. But Sherlock Holmes...a child combined of the world-class consulting detective and the Woman that brought a nation to its knees...it would have been a waste to rid the world of such potential. And, in a deep recess of her brain, she felt a connection to Sherlock, a knowledge that their singular affair had occurred. Despite her best efforts, she felt sentimentally towards him, and even more so, though in a different fashion, towards the child within her.

She waited two days before calling Lily back, to tell her both that she had been hired and additionally that when Irene went in for a prenatal visit, that she would come along for a consultation about nursing the child.

And so it began.


	3. A Beginning

A Beginning

John sat next to a very pregnant Irene Adler, whom he called Alice for Lily's sake. The birthing center was small, private, exactly what Irene had asked for. Sherlock Holmes, dressed very out-of character so as to not be recognized, paced pack and forth in the hallway as Lily walked to and from the room with a cup of ice chips, some pear-flavored squash, anything she needed.

"How long do we need to be here," Sherlock demanded as John walked out of the room and into the hall.

"I'm an army doctor, not a obstetrician, but it looks like it could be a few more hours."

"It's already finished, can it not get out by itself?"

"It's a baby, not a loaf of bread, Sherlock."

He snorted and continued pacing.

"Cigarette."

"No."

"Cigarette."

"NO. Your child will not inhale third hand smoke for its first breath."

John pushed himself past Sherlock and into the delivery room. Through the window, he could see Irene, tell when she was having a contraction. She was silent for it, tight-lipped and refusing to show she was in pain. Her muscles all clenched and her face whitened every two and a half minutes or so. Her hands clenched around the arms of the chair she sat in. Lily came out of the room and the doctor/midwife that was in charge of the delivery skulked past Sherlock, fear in her eyes, and into the room.

Looking up at the dark-haired detective, looking very out of character in long blue jeans and a jumper that was slightly too large on him, Lily smiled wryly.

"She's doing really well. How are you holding up?"

"My presence here is assisting no one," he told her sharply. "And that habit you have of chewing your lip is unattractive."

Remembering that this was a time of stress, she took a deep breath. It was blustery outside and there was a low rumble as thunder echoed outside. He was blunt, she had learned that by now. His people skills needed work and he rarely adhered to social norms.

"If I get you a cigarette will you stop pacing and go outside for a half hour or so?"

"Third hand smoke clings to the clothes and will be inhaled by the child." He was parroting John and he knew it but he refused to show weakness to anyone, let alone his child's nanny. As a nurse walked by, he muttered a stream of barely intelligible deductions about her under his breath.

Shaking off her discomfort, Lily walked down the hall to retrieve another cup of ice chips. On her way back she handed Sherlock a nicotine patch that she'd begged off one of the nurses.

"You are not the most important one in the room right now. Go for a walk We'll call if anything changes."

Sneering, he pocketed the patch and waited until she had turned her back and returned to the room before rolling up his sleeve and adhering it to the inside of his arm. Shooting the room another glance, he stalked down the halls and out the back onto the little covered porch that the nurses used for coffee breaks. Mentally, he reconstructed how this had all occurred in his mind.

"_Mr. Holmes,"_ _her voice was a seductive purr, "It seems that reports of your death were somewhat hyperbolic."_

_ He snorted and sipped his tea, ignoring her. Naturally she sat beside him, ignoring the snub. On his table already were two empty plates with the remnants of what appeared to be fish and chips and some sort of soup._

_ "I was beginning to think that you didn't eat."_

_ "Eating slows the mind."_

_ "So you're...slowing your mind?"_

_ "I am no longer needed in the capacity I formerly was and need to remain incognito. Dulling my intellect temporarily by indulging in regular eating practices is a logical step. People seem to think I am a machine and by acting like less of myself I become more unnoticeable."_

_ He said this all very slowly, his voice a darkly sarcastic drawl that was quite unlike his usual rapid-fire delivery._

_ "Slowing your speech patterns as well?"_

_ "Obviously."_

_ "Since you're eating now...how about dinner?"_

_ "I'm not hungry," he replied automatically._

_ "No, but you're going to eat anyway, so why not eat with me?"_

_ "A number of reasons, including that two dead people together are more noticeable than one."_

_ "We hardly look like ourselves, Mr. Holmes."_

_ It was true. They were in a pub in Ireland and in addition to Irene's red-auburn hair and green knit sweater, she was wearing Wellies, her face clean of makeup and her hair back in a messy bun. Sherlock's pants and long sleeved shirt were rain-spattered and his hat and waterproof jacket hung on a wall hook behind him. His facial hair had grown out and his hair was a messy mop, uncut and unkempt. All this in addition to the fact that she was sipping a mug of coffee and he had two dirty plates in front of him made them look completely unlike themselves. _

_ "Irrelevant. Two familiar faces side by side instead of just one is far more recognizable."_

_ "Then we won't eat where we can be seen."_

_ Placing his money on the table and standing, he pulled on his coat and hat._

_ "Good day."_

_ As the rain pattered on his had and ran down the back of his jacket, he allowed himself a brief glance over his shoulder and immediately cursed his own weakness. As she walked out of the pub, she smiled at him, looking back at her through the rain. As her hair began to darken from the water, she pulled the hood on her jacket up and opened her umbrella, smiling at him all the while. Before he could look away, he watched her lips form the words, "Until tomorrow then."_

The nicotine was finally entering his system and his fingers twitched in his pockets. Damn he wanted a cigarette. Cocaine. Something to dull the chemicals and hormones that would have been sentiment in anyone else. The door behind him opened and John walked out.

"You're allowed to be scared you know."

"I'm not scared. I'm withdrawing from a nicotine addiction."

John nodded,

"Well if you'd like to bring your withdrawing inside, she's abut ready to push."

He raised a dark eyebrow at the doctor.

"Has she not been doing that already?"

Barely containing his annoyance, John gestured for him to follow.

"Sherlock your first child is about to be born. Come be present."

_"Until tomorrow then," her lips had formed the words that he could read perfectly through the sheets of rain between them. If there was a singular sentence that had changed his life more than those three words, he would give Anderson a compliment._

In the room, Irene had her eyes closed and the edges were wet. She hated this. She had endured pain before but not this, and never in the presence of so many. She wanted to be alone, desperately, to hide her agony, but all the same she wanted Sherlock's hand in hers. Despite his scorn of her sentiment, she wanted his hand wrapped around hers, comforting her, helping her through. Instead, she had lily on one side of her, feeding her ice chips and politely averting her eyes as Irene's fist creased a fistful of the hospital gown she wore.

"Do you need me to go, Alice?" Lily asked softly, only for the other woman's ears. "It's a very intimate setting."

Irene shook her head, refusing to admit that she was slowly losing control. Her body was already several hours into a delivery and hadn't once asked for her permission.

"John went to get Sherlock. He should be here any minute."

Irene nodded and as a wave of pain shuddered through her, louder and more violent then the thunder outside she let out a heavy breath that sounded almost like a sob, another breath that sounded like a low scream or a moan. She reached over and snatched Lily's hand, not caring anymore. The pain just had to end.

Out in the hall he heard the moan, and in an instant Sherlock Holmes felt his chest tighten. Forcing himself not to run, he walked into the delivery room and walked around to her other side, watching from a distance. As another contraction flooded over her, Irene's fingers tightened around Lily's and she blew out a breath of air, inhaled another raggedly.

"Sherlock, here please," Lily called and dodging a woman that was peering between Irene's legs and John, blue medical gloves and a blue gown making him look rather like a Smurf, Sherlock came, unthinking. Firmly pulling her hand out of Irene's, she placed Sherlock's in her place.

"I need to go get another cloth and some more ice."

Lily vanished and Irene's hand tightened over Sherlock's as she looked up at him, eyes wide and face pale.

"You're doing very well," the woman at the end of the bed said, "One more millimeter and you'll be ready to push."

Irene growled something and Sherlock felt her hand tighten on his. Gently, hesitantly, he squeezed back. When Lily re-entered the room, she had a damp cloth and a new cup of ice chips. She put the cup next to Sherlock.

"You're in charge of these."

Without giving him time to protest, she walked around to the other side of the woman she knew as Alice Bates and wiped the sweat from her face.

"All right, during the next contractions I want you to push," the woman said, and John stood behind her with a tray of medical instruments.

Irene screamed this time.

"I can see the crown of the head! Give it three more good pushes and you should have your baby."

She didn't scream again, only closed her eyes, threw back her head, and clutched Sherlock;s hand for dear life. A full minute later, there was the sound of a feeble cry that grew louder. John accepted the baby from the doctor and began to wipe it off as Irene delivered the placenta and the doctor cleaned her up.

"Sherlock, would you like to cut the cord?" John asked.

White-faced, Sherlock shook his head and Lily walked over to John.

"I'll hold him and you can."

"Him?" Irene asked faintly from her bed, breathing heavily and trying to regain her composure.

Lily handed the boy back to John, who wrapped the child in a blanket and handed him to Irene.

"Your son."

She ran a fingertip over the baby's features and his eyes opened, blinking up at her. Looking from Sherlock to the baby and back, she smiled.

"He has your eyes."

Sherlock swallowed and when Irene offered him the child, he stepped back, entirely out of his depth. Chuckling and trying to hold back tears, Lily rolled a chair over behind him as John sat Sherlock down and placed his son in his arms.

"What are you going to call him?" John asked, and Irene smiled at him, hair askew, face sweaty, but radiant.

"I was thinking Tobias."

Recalling a remark John had made, Sherlock corrected her quietly, his eyes never leaving his son's face.

"Tobias Hamish."

Nodding, Irene looked at her son and the consulting detective whose sturdy exterior had all but fallen away in the presence of his newly born son.

"Tobias Hamish Holmes."

Several signatures later, baby Tobias was in Lily's arms and eating his first meal, suckling quietly from her breast as Irene showered and Sherlock sat quietly in the hall. John was washing his hands and he looked at her.

"I don't envy you."

Looking up from the baby, Lily smiled.

"He'll be just fine. They both will."

John shook his head.

"I meant dealing with them as their son grows up."

Lily smiled again, gently stroking the dark fuzz that coated the baby's head.

"Wait and see."

**Welcome to the world baby Tobias Hamish Holmes! Reviews would be great so I know what you think and how I can improve or what you think would make future chapters better!**


	4. Early Days

Early Days

"He's not going to remember me going and even if I do meet with Lily to see him I fail to see why you also must be there!"

"Because we're both Toby's parents, Sherlock! He ought to see us together and know who his mother and father are!"

"John has assured me that he will not remember anything before the age of three anyhow."

"Because it's good for him developmentally!"

"Nonsense. He has a nanny for a reason."

"Protection, Sherlock!"

"If it was for protection you'd have hired bodyguards."

"The house is guarded on a variety of levels and us not drawing attention to it is one of those layers of protection. I swear, you are impossible!"

"Then I am sure you will not miss my presence."

"Toby is a month old, Sherlock! It's a milestone!"

"I just inhaled, then exhaled. That's a milestone."

Irene looked him in the eye.

"You will be there. Three o'clock."

He snorted.

"Unlikely."

She did not slam the door when he left, but that was a measure of self-control.

Her sentiment makes his lip curl with disdain, and with that disdain comes a memory.

_She had found him the next day sitting on a rock and peering out onto the sea, mist in the air and dripping from the brim of his hat. The "until tomorrow then" had rung in his ears all night long, though he would not have admitted it for a million pounds._

_ "Hungry yet?"_

_ "Miss Adler, I beat you, I saved you, and now you seem to take my clear dismissals as invitations."_

_ "You dismiss everyone, so I interpret the ones you direct at myself with creative license."_

_ "Sentiment," he sneered, lip curling up with disdain._

_ "Perhaps. But the fact of the matter is, I have beaten you in that."_

_ He snorted and did not respond. _

_ She sat beside him for at least forty-five minutes as he refused to ask what she meant and she refused to offer an answer. After a while, she spoke, though not to offer a clue to what she meant._

_ "Why is sentiment a bad thing, Mr. Holmes?"_

_ "Surely your defeat would indicate the answer to you."_

_ The remark stung but she didn't let it show. _

_ "You think of it as a weakness, a way to get at someone. But you feel sentiment for Mrs. Hudson and certainly for John. Perhaps even that policeman that you work with."_

_ "Different." His voice was clipped._

_ "How is that exactly? You can still be injured through them."_

_ He flinched and her eyebrows raised._

_ "That's how he did it, isn't it? Moriarty threatened them."_

_ "Jim Moriarty is dead." The venom in his voice was unmistakable._

_ "As are you."_

_ "I watched his teeth clack against the barrel of the pistol as the bullet cracked through his skull."_

_ "So what keeps you here then?"_

_ "Use your brain Miss Adler. You've grown complacent in using your body and letting the mind rot."_

_ "His network then. Still a threat to the people you care about."_

_ He didn't answer._

_ "And hiding away on the coast of Ireland with an bad haircut and a larger appetite is helping that cease, how?"_

_ "I am biding my time. Timing is surely something you understand."_

_ The ghost of a smile flickered across her face._

_ "I could teach you if you like."_

_ "I am not interested in learning what it is you have to teach." That was a lie. Not the first lie he had told but one he scorned himself for needing to tell. Between eating more and allowing his humanity to leak through, he could sense her influence on his body more than he ever could in Baker Street. Faster pulse, higher internal body temperature, likely slightly dilated pupils, a faint discomfort in his stomach and chest: these all indicated sentiment and he mentally shoved them aside._

_ "You were once."_

_ "I took your pulse once. Nothing more."_

_ "I disagree."_

_ "Unfortunately going back to relive the moment is impossible or I would happily disprove your theory."_

_ "Are you happy?"_

_ The question was a complete non sequitur and it startled him slightly. He wanted to look over at her but knew it would be a concession of their eternal game and so he did not._

_ "What difference does that make?"_

_ "Money is satisfying and misbehaving is gratifying but sentiment can be pleasurable as well. And by denying it, you deny yourself happiness in favor of control. And when you are alone, Mr. Holmes, your victories are cold in your lonely mind."_

_ He was already firing back a response, but she was walking away and not looking back. Tightening his jaw, Sherlock stared out at the mist that was slowly becoming a steady rain. Damn that woman._

It was John that convinced him to go, he told himself. Certainly not any sentiment towards the Woman. John was the reason that he was wearing a knit cap that covered his hair and slouching slightly in a leather jacket over a blue jumper and gray trousers and on a tube towards the edge of London to see his son. John was the reason he slipped a fiver to the woman taking tickets so she let him into a side entrance that lead up to the inside of a pub in a smoky corner hidden away and generally avoided by the patrons. John was the reason he hesitantly knocked on the door at precisely three o'clock and looked his...no...the Woman who had birthed his son in the face.

"I see you could make it." Her fake accent was French and his Belgian as she invited him in and he hung his coat on the tree by the door. After it closed, his face soured slightly when the maid shuffled past him, collected her coat, and left via the front door.

"You've hired help?"

"For now."

"She's seen me."

"She's seen a slouching Belgian in a terrible hat and a leather jacket."

"One of the few visitors here. More memorable."

"The staff is on a monthly basis. Today was her last day."

Soft clicking pattered towards them and upon looking down, Sherlock discovered a delighted corgi eagerly begging for attention. Irene smiled and petted him and Sherlock shot him a disgruntled look before following Irene through the hall and into the kitchen. Plates were set out around a modest round kitchen table and it was set for tea.

"We're here" he stated shortly. "So where is the son I am here to see?"

As he was finishing the sentence, Lily walked into the room, her eyes dark-circled but happy as she cradled a slumbering baby. When she spoke it was in a low, quiet voice.

"Sorry, he's been fussy all morning so when he finally got to sleep I wanted to make sure he was all right for a bit before I brought him down."

She offered the baby to Irene, who took him, smiling down at the child.

"He's even bigger than the pictures."

"Pictures?" Sherlock demanded.

"Lily sends me daily updates."

Sherlock wasn't sure he particularly wanted daily updates of a child who would not become developmentally interesting for at least another two to three months (according to John). However, he did feel that if Irene was getting them, then he ought to have them as well or else have her lord it over him.

"Why am I not receiving these?"

"I talked to you about it, but you ignored me."

"Nonsense, I have no memory of that conversation."

"Precisely."

Lily sat down and poured herself a cup of tea.

"I can add your contact into my phone if you like." She seemed far too tired to attempt to mediate the argument as she had once before, upon their visit on Toby's first week. The woman (whom she knew to call Alice but more and more suspected was not her name) had been irritable, likely from the leftover aches from birth and the pill-induced process of drying her milk out. She didn't seem thrilled with what the pregnancy had done to her figure either and the couple had bickered incessantly for the entire visit, leaving Lily more exhausted than Toby did.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket. _Freshly dressed, probably remains in a robe or pyjamas throughout the day seeing as she doesn't have to go out. Dressed for us, though more to look presentable than to impress. Phone is not originally hers. Irene's gift. Likely tapped. _

Sliding the phone across the table to him, she helped herself to a few small sandwiches and chewed between sips of tea. As he punched in his name and number, Toby began to make quiet sounds that didn't sound particularly happy. Irene rocked him a little, back and forth, and he quieted. Lily finished a sandwich and helped herself to a second.

"Has the cook neglected to feed you?" Sherlock asked pointedly and Lily swallowed her mouthful of sandwich.

"I eat and sleep based on the schedule of a 1-month old," she told him, too tired to be intimidated. "I eat what I can when I can and I eat it quickly because he's not happy if I keep him waiting to eat or be changed or entertained."

"Sounds like someone I know," Irene muttered. Sherlock ignored her and instead directed his gaze at his sleeping son.

"We came to see Tobias sleep?"

"I can wake him if you like," Irene offered. Lily took a large gulp of tea and began on some of the fruit she had piled onto her plate.

"Miss Wallace seems to dislike the idea."

Irene glanced at Lily and ignored her discomfort.

"Thankfully, she is being paid to care for Toby so I am sure he will get his rest."

Lily knew that she was saying it to get under Sherlock's skin more than to snub her but it still stung and she bit her lip, counted to ten, and then continues to eat at a slower pace, sipping tea all the while.

Irene gently jostled the baby.

"Toby? Wake up."

He did, fussing a little at first, then the cry became an unhappy wail.

"Care to hold him?" Irene asked.

Sherlock accepted, though more to show Irene he could than because of an actual desire to hold a squalling infant. Mimicking what he had seen Lily do, he stood and walked around the table, clutching the baby as though he would drop it if his grip was loosened even minutely.

Toby's fussing slowly quieted, then settled into silence. Sherlock shot Irene a triumphant glare before handing the baby back to Lily.

The rest of the tea was utterly uneventful and it ended when Toby awoke again and Lily explained that he was hungry.

"How do you know?"

"That's his hungry cry." She didn't need to add the next remark but she was tired and mildly irritable. "The cry he did when you woke him earlier was his angry cry."

When they left, Sherlock was more polite to Lily than he had been when he entered, though she didn't notice because she was gently convincing Toby that he could nurse if he stopped screaming when the nipple went in his mouth.

On his tube ride home, he thought about what she had said about different kinds of cries. Later that evening as she was rocking Toby back to sleep, Lily received a text.

_Would like recording of each cry Tobias produces, labeled._

_ -SH_

Tired and exasperated, she recorded the howl that Sherlock Holmes's son began when he was awoken by his father texting his nanny. She sent it to him and labeled it "Tired." Thankfully, she resisted saying anything else because it was three in the morning and she was up for the third time that evening to feed/change/rock Toby.

Sherlock listened to the recording in his room, thinking to himself about whether or not different distress noises in infants was worth saving for the future. Perhaps not for detecting...but as a father it might be his duty. With this in mind, he sat back to think.


	5. Trials

Trials and Results

John entered the flat to the sound of about eight infants screaming and not for the first time he was concerned that Sherlock had finally taken an experiment too far. Mrs. Hudson was out visiting her sister for the weekend otherwise he assumed she would have stopped whatever mad experiment he had required babies for. However, as he burst into the living room, he found Sherlock fiddling with a sound board, speakers all around him.

"Sherlock!" He shouted over the din.

He was ignored as Sherlock turned a nob, lowering the pitch of one of the cries and paused, appearing to make a mental note.

With a sigh, John walked over and flipped the switch on the power strip everything was plugged into. The sound system whined, then died.

Scowling, Sherlock Holmes glared at his flatmate.

"I was making progress."

"I can deal with body parts in the fridge and your catalogs of shoe impressions and perfume scents and different kinds of mold. But I can not deal with you blasting the sound of crying infants in this flat!"

"Infant."

John paused.

"What?"

"Infant. It's the same infant."

"Infant then. The fact is, I can't deal with this sound. It's piercing and irritating and it makes me feel like clawing my ears off."

"It's Tobias," Sherlock explained, ignoring the protests.

"I don't care who's—wait what? Tobias?"

"I'm attempting to determine if there is a link between pitch and the intent of his cries."

Hesitating, John flipped the switch back on.

"Show me."

Sherlock turned the volume down and pointed to each of the different speakers.

"Lillian sent me recordings of his cries and what he wanted." Indicating, each in turn, he listed them off, variables in the experiment.

"Hungry, tired, needs to be burped, angry, needs to be changed, in pain, lonely or bored and then this last one didn't cease after she offered him a variety of comforts, including food, so I labeled it as unknown."

John knew that there was a system of crying and that babies did have specific cries, but the fact that Sherlock was showing interest in his son, even in an experimental way, was promising. The detective was honed in on the speakers and his mental notes.

"Is there a link?"

"Well each cry is distinctive with a unique pattern but pitch isn't related in a linear fashion."

John nodded, impressed.

"So how are you going to test out your results?"

Sherlock looked at him, incredulous.

"Visiting Toby, obviously."

"Right," John said. "Well keep the volume down on this, all right?"

Sherlock nodded shortly as John headed into the kitchen to fix himself something to eat.

"Shall I call Lily then?" he asked from the kitchen and Sherlock shook his head.

"Toby is falling into a schedule. He should be asleep right now, meaning she is likely asleep, eating, or in the shower."

Say what you want about Sherlock Holmes, John thought, but you can't say he's heartless. He just shows his affection in a very different way.

"All right. Well when will he be awake?"

"Likely around eleven, so I have an hour or so."

"To do what?"

"Shower, have a cup of tea, make sure everything smells like me."

"Smells like?" Once again John was lost.

"Research indicates that babies can identify people by scent before sight. Tobias will be able to recognize me."

John his his smile by turning away, knowing that the sudden show of sentiment would either embarrass or confuse Sherlock. People said he was heartless or a machine, but the so-called heartless father was determining the meaning of his son's cry and attempting to better understand a child whose only communication was through crying and connect with him through senses he used most for memory. If that wasn't human, hell if that wasn't loving, he didn't know what was.

_Swearing to himself, Sherlock knocked on the door of the little house on the moor. Based on the garden, the supplies, and the state of the house, it was occupied by two women, one older, one younger. Perhaps the older one was away and the younger one was tending the house? He would find out soon enough. The storm had been brewing for several hours but he needed to think away from the distractions of people and had risked it anyway. After nearly being struck by lightning, he had found the nearest house and hoped someone was home._

_ There was a pounding on the door and Irene shrugged her robe on over her woolen socks, her loose trousers and soft jumper. This was not a day to be out and whoever was knocking was disturbing her solitude. She opened the door and was greeted by a strong of curses._

_ "Hello Mr. Holmes. Lucky you should stumble upon my little house."_

_"Lucky is hardly the word I would use."_

_ "Fortuitous perhaps?"_

_ "Inconvenient."_

_ "Well if I'm inconveniencing you, please feel free to enjoy the rain." She shut the door in his face and it would have closed entirely had he not wedged his foot in the door, preventing it from leaving him outside._

_ "I would prefer to avoid electrocution."_

_ "Are you going to ask to be let in?"_

_ He didn't say a word and she raised an eyebrow at him._

_ "I am capable of making you remove your foot from the door, Mr. Holmes. But if you ask, I will let you inside."_

_ The rain pounded against his coat as the wind blew it across the backs of his already-soaked trouser legs. He knew when he had been defeated, but it was only one play in a long game._

_ "May I come in?"_

_ He even said it politely, though with a trace of dry sarcasm. Ignoring the sarcasm, she opened the door and closed it behind him._

_ After re-bolting the door, she assessed the dripping detective._

_ "You're getting my floor wet."_

_ "So get a towel."_

_ "Take off your clothes."_

_ "Unlikely."_

_ "Then we'll compromise."_

_ He snorted in response._

_ "I doubt you know the meaning of the word."_

_ "I mean you remove your clothes here after I retrieve a towel, then I hang them to dry while you warm up in the shower and I find you something to wear."_

_ He considered momentarily._

_ "I'll change in the bathroom."_

_ "You'll drip all the way across the house. Absolutely not."_

_ He did not negotiate, but he found himself willing to because he was cold and wet and a warm shower and dry clothes sounded like luxuries._

_ "I will remove my jacket, shoes, and trousers, put on the towel, and remove the rest once I enter the shower, from which you may take my clothes."_

_ Irene's mouth stretched into a smile._

_ "Deal."_

_ They shook on it, and she went to retrieve a towel._

Lily answered the door, Toby in her arms. He was a little drowsy-looking but unlike the last time Sherlock had seen him, he seemed perfectly content to be awake. Smiling up at him, she offered him Toby, who gurgled. Still a little uncertain, he let Lily adjust his hold on Toby under the pretense of checking that his onesie was snapped up. Appreciating her gesture, he offered her a measured look, a spark of interest in his eye. This was interrupted by Pan the corgi excitedly sniffing his shoes.

"Has...Alice been here recently?"

"She visits at least once a week," Lily told him, guiding an overly excited Pan away with the promise of treats and playing in the garden.

"Would he remember me more readily if I did as well?"

"Probably. However, you'd have to get used to me in a robe and slippers without any prep. And not being overly social, depending on the day he's had. When he starts sleeping through the night I'll get better."

"When do you expect that will be?"

"I'm already trying to get him started, but he still wakes up one or two times during the night. Thankfully it's not every two hours like it was when he was a week old. I'm not sure how I survived that. Tea, I think. Tea and the cook Alice hired."

"But when?" Sherlock persisted.

"Probably not for another month at least. He likes his habits, Toby does, and breaking them is a slow-moving process."

Sherlock chuckled softly and looked down at his son.

"Tabula rasa is a myth. According to Mycroft, I was very stubborn, even as an infant. Seems it's genetic."

Nodding, Lily gestured towards the back of the house.

"I'm going to have lunch in the garden if you'd like to join."

"I'm not hungry," he replied without though. Then, as an afterthought, "Thank you."

"Tea?"

"Please."

Meandering into the kitchen, Lily put the kettle on and pulled out a skillet from a cabinet before taking leftovers from the previous evening's dinner and dumping them into the little pan, turning the heat on medium.

Toby gurgled and his little hands clenched and unclenched, grasping at the air. Curious, Sherlock offered the baby his finger and was surprised and pleased to find that his son seized it and gripped it for several minutes before loosening his grasp and waving his arms about again.

Lily pushed her now-hot lunch onto a plate and carried two mugs of tea, her plate, and a blanket all outside. She went back in, retrieving napkins and silverware before offering Sherlock a seat at the table and laying the blanket out on the grass.

Sherlock glanced at the blanket and when Lily held out her arms for the baby, he allowed the child to be taken from his arms and laid on the blanket in the weak sunlight. Pan trotted over, sniffed him, then began a patrol of the garden. After watering a few plants and running after a ball Lily tossed for him, he settled down next to Toby on the blanket, eyes alert for anything that approached, be it insect, animal, or leaf in the breeze.

"He's...guarding him?"

Sherlock looked puzzled.

"Pan sort of took to him. If he doesn't think I'm coming soon enough to get him, Pan will run back and forth from his room to wherever I am until I come up and get him. And on days outside, he'll made a few rounds before settling down to look after him. I think it's sweet."

"Guarding instinct isn't an emotional response in animals, it is simply instinctual."

Lily sighed quietly and nodded at him before beginning to eat. Sherlock, uninterested in conversation, looked past her, studying his son.

It is an unfortunate reality of science that once you have a problem you are trying to solve, it will immediately cease being a problem once you have the tools to solve it and will only resume being a problem when you no longer have the means to do anything about it. This was something Lily firmly believed, especially since the car she had once owned had a peculiar problem with the transmission that only occurred when she was not within reach of a service station or with someone who could assist her. Sherlock, however, knew that humans were predictable creatures and eventually Toby would cry and he could put his research into action.

Lily finished her meal, cleared the table, and walked over to sit beside Toby, who was fascinated by Pan's tail, which wagged happily as Lily scratched his head and then his belly as he rolled over onto his back. Sherlock awkwardly followed and sat on the grass, watching Toby watch Pan's tail. He was mildly disappointed that he had not yet had the chance to test his theory but pleased that he got to study what interested and entertained the child. He hoped it would prove useful and had already set aside a small room in his mind palace for memories and information about Toby.

Inevitably, Toby began to whimper and as Lily's hands went out to soothe him, Sherlock stopped her.

"I've been studying the recordings you sent me. He is bored and wants to interact."

Picking up his son gingerly, allowing Lily to help support his head, he cradled Toby somewhat awkwardly and peered at him.

"Did you know that you enjoy skin-to-skin contact because of the bonding hormones released during it?" His voice was gentle and Lily smiled.

"I swear I'm not flirting or anything, but if you want to go inside you can unbutton your shirt and hold him skin-to-skin."

Sherlock's face closed as he thought about it. He was unsure about how he felt about this. He wanted Toby to be familiar and comfortable with him but he was unsure about being uncovered. It was all well and good to make a point...perhaps if it was fine to make a point, it would also be acceptable to fill a purpose.

"All right."

He stood and walked towards the door to the house as Lily shook out and folded the blanket, Pan dancing around her feet. Following Sherlock in, she hung the blanket over a chair and lead him into the sitting room, stocked with comfortable furniture. Despite the fact that Toby had no control over his neck yet let alone the ability to move around, everything was baby-proofed.

"Could you," Sherlock began shortly, but Lily was one step ahead of him, taking Toby into her arms and sitting onto the couch to unsnap his onesie carefully, checking to see if his nappy was dirty before settling him in her arms, humming something softly to him. As she hummed and he gurgled, Sherlock hesitantly removed his jacket, then unbuttoned his shirt.

Careful not to smile too much because it would likely make him uncomfortable, Lily settled Toby in Sherlock's arms.

"You can cuddle him, he won't mind."

Slowly and awkwardly, Sherlock Holmes pulled his son closer to his chest and drew two fingers up to trace his hairline, the bridge of his nose, his little chin. Leaning down, Lily settled Pan onto her lap and stroked him gently. Happy for the attention, the corgi licked her hand eagerly and rubbed his head against her palm. As Sherlock softened his grip on Toby and attempted to mimic Lily's cuddle, the doorbell rang. Immediately, Sherlock's eyes flashed to the door of the sitting room.

"It's probably grocery delivery," Lily assured him. "The cook's out sick today, usually she picks them up."

However, at the front door was Irene Adler/Alice Bates.

"I forgot my bag here yesterday."

Lily nodded, suddenly uncertain. The dynamic between Toby's parents was dynamic at best and hostile at worst. Irene, noticing her discomfort, asked,

"Is Toby asleep?"

"Um."

Her eyes flicked to the sitting room and back. Irene, noticing where her gaze fell, sauntered into the sitting room.

"Mr. Holmes. Lovely to see you in a state of undress."

"Infants benefit from skin-to-skin contact."

"So do I."

Gulping down her embarrassment, Lily hovered by the door, unsure of what was going to occur next.


	6. First Results

First Results

_"Infants benefit from skin-to-skin contact."_

_ "So do I."_

Incredibly uncomfortable between Sherlock Holmes and a woman who was certainly not named Alice Bates despite her claims, Lily swallowed and leaned against the door frame. Sherlock Holmes appeared to be blushing, and it showed on his pale chest though not on his cheeks. Toby gurgled and writhed in his father's grasp, sensing the tension and discomfort in the arms holding him. He began to whimper softly and Sherlock scowled, tearing his eyes from his staring match to his son. Hesitantly, he rocked him back and forth.

"It's quite all right, Tobias. Your mother is merely being her infuriating self."

Seemingly unconvinced, Toby whimpered louder and Irene smiled at him.

"Daddy bothering you, sweetheart?"

Confidence oozed off of her as she scooped her son out of Sherlock's arms and into her own. Bouncing him gently, she smiled at him.

"Much better now that you're with Mummy, aren't you dear?"

Her bouncing, though originally quieting him, grew a little aggressive and Toby began to wail. Finally in her element, Lily walked over quietly to the little family as Sherlock cocked his head, looking at his son as he buttoned up his shirt.

"That's...a mixture."

"What are you going on about?" Irene looked aloof.

"His cry. It's a blend of the one he uses when he's hungry and the one he uses when he's scared or uncomfortable."

"What?" Irene looked startled and Lily took that moment to gently extract the baby from his mother's arms.

"Mealtime, sorry."

She only lat herself scowl after she was out of the room and heading up the stairs. It was clear that both parents felt affectionate towards their son, the issue was they were constantly butting heads with one another. Sighing, Lily relaxed and settled into the rocking chair in Toby's nursery, unbuttoning her top and offering him a breast. Toby was agitated enough that he refused the food and continued wailing.

"Toby, come on. It's all right."

The baby ignored her and his screams increased in volume. Sighing, Lily stood, slipping her breast back into her shirt and she walked the room, humming 'Abide With Me' softly to the screaming baby. As it is with babies, Toby continued his wails for a good fifteen minutes until he settled down and accepted the offered breast. Whenever she paused to attempt sitting down, he would begin to cry again, so she fed, burped, and soothed him some more, walking around the nursery, down the hall, and back.

More screaming during the diaper change and another fifteen minutes to get him settled enough to go to bed left Lily exhausted and she walked back downstairs to find something to eat while she sat down for a little while. Much to her surprise, Sherlock and the woman who was certainly not named Alice were still in the sitting room.

Uncertain once more, she timidly knocked on the door, causing them both to turn and look at her.

"Um...I was going to get something to eat...do you need anything?"

"You've just eaten," Sherlock pointed out as not-Alice simultaneously said "No, thank you."

"Mr. Holmes!"

He turned to look at the woman who was not Alice.

"What?"

"You're being rude again."

"She doesn't mind, do you Lily?"

Not allowing Lily to answer, the woman (not Alice) shot back.

"I'm sure she does mind. She takes care of a tiny screaming version of you all day, I doubt she wants to deal with an adult version."

"I believe it's fair to say there's a good bit of you in there as well, Irene."

He said her name pointedly, in a manner that was far from accidental, then looked at Lily.

"Sherlock!"

"Oh she knew it wasn't your real name. Nobody calls you that. You might as well be Irene as anyone. It's easier to you have a name that we all use than swapping back and forth with this Alice nonsense."

"I'll just go then," Lily said uncomfortably, "If you need anything, I'll be in the kitchen."

Neither of them seemed to particularly notice and the bickering escalated into a debate.

_As hot water sprung from the shower head, Sherlock took off the remains of his dripping clothes and left them in a small pile by the door before stepping into the shower. Not a moment later, he heard the door open and a low sultry voice chuckle._

_ "Will you need any help, Mr. Holmes?"_

_ "Certainly not. And this shower is hardly large enough to accommodate two."_

_ "I would enjoy proving you wrong."_

_ "No doubt," Sherlock replied, tilting his head back to allow the hot water to run over his already-dripping curls._

_ "I'll leave you to it, then."_

_ The door closed again and he allowed himself to sigh with relief, relaxing as he borrowed shampoo, conditioner, and soap to clean himself off. Long after he was clean, he soaked in the remainder of the hot water, bringing his body temperature back up and allowing himself the small enjoyment of a long shower at Irene Adler's expense. _

_ When the water finally began to cool, he pulled a towel off of the hook next to the shower, dried his hair, then his body, and wrapped it around his waist. Usually he would consider meeting Ms. Adler in a towel a terrible idea, but they had already compromised once and he would rather be in a towel inside the house than without one outside. _

_ He padded into the living room and her eyes slowly ran over his body, caressing the edges in a way that was clearly intended to make him uncomfortable. It was mildly successful, but only because he was at loss and in nothing but a towel, which he forced himself not to pull tighter, knowing it would be seen as a weakness on his part. _

_ "I don't suppose you have something I can wear other than this towel?"_

_ Her smile was almost predatory and he sighed internally, fully aware that until the rain stopped he was stuck with her and it would all be a long competition, a battle they played every time they were together._

_ "I have a dressing gown you can borrow."_

_ "Pants? Trousers? A sweater perhaps?"_

_ Shaking her head, she smiled at him._

_ "No dryer here either...your clothes will have to dry in front of the fire."_

_ "Fine."_

_ "Fine?" She raised an eyebrow. "You have no objections to being naked except for a robe?"_

_ "I presume you have seen me in such before."_

_ One of her shoulders raised and lowered in a half-shrug. _

_ "A good dominatrix never tells."_

_ "You're no longer a dominatrix."_

_ "Darling, I'll always be a dominatrix. Just not necessarily one employed to do it."_

_ His stomach dropped slightly, warm and pleased. She was flirting, he noted. She was flirting and he was enjoying it. Acutely aware of his bare chest, he blinked calmly at her. _

_ "Am I going to have to search for the dressing down?"_

_ "Don't tempt me, Mr. Holmes."_

_ "Wouldn't dream of it."_

_ When she brought the dressing gown—a quilted dressing gown, one clearly meant for men, he noted that the older woman that typically lived here had a husband, a deceased one, but she kept his dressing gown around. For this he was thankful. Retreating back to the bathroom to change and hang up his towel, he tied the belt of the dressing down firmly around his waist and returned to the sitting room where Ms. Adler awaited him. _

_ "How do you plan on passing the time?" _

_ "Thinking."_

_ "Smart may be the new sexy, Mr. Holmes, but it doesn't entirely replace it."_

_ "I am not interested in what is sexy."_

_ "I could explain it to you if you like."_

_ "Thanks but no thanks. I prefer my conversation stimulating."_

_ "I think you would find me quite stimulating."_

_ Again, he felt his body react with interest, but shoved the response under the cool exterior he was projecting. _

_ "I am not interested in your sort of stimulation, thank you."_

_ "You would."_

_ "What?"_

_ "Thank me."_

_ "Ms. Adler do me a favor and try to think of something other than your profession."_

_ "Everything is my profession."_

_ He snorted and looked towards the fire, not deigning her retort worthy of a reply. _

_ "Chess?" _

_ When he looked over, she had set a chess board up on the small table between their seats. Staring at the board for approximately fifteen seconds, he glanced back up at her._

_ "I win."_

_ "I haven't even started yet."_

_ "You were about to open with the Sicilian Defense, leaving me to have your king in checkmate in four moves."_

_ "Aren't we clever?"_

_ "John says I'm a show off."_

_ "He's not wrong."_

_ "I don't see the point of stifling my intelligence to accommodate those of lesser intellect."_

_ "Humility is certainly not a strong point for you then?"_

_ He scoffed you._

_ "As much as humor is for you."_

_ She smiled._

_ "I think it's sweet that you're attempting to be insulting. The attempt is noted, though you're getting low marks for effort."_

_ Leaning over, she moved one of her pawns forward two spaces._

_ "Not the Sicilian Defense, you'll notice."_

_ He barely looked before selecting a piece to move._

_ "We could sweeten the game."_

_ "I hardly see the point."_

_ She moved her bishop across the board in a diagonal dance and he countered._

_ "Entertainment, Mr. Holmes. You scorn my idea of entertainment so I am attempting to accommodate your forms of it. It's known to be polite, though I doubt you would recognize it."_

_ "How do you wish to improve upon an age-old form of mental stimulation?"_

_ "A small wager."_

_ "What do you have that is of worth to me?"_

_ "Plenty." The smile was evident in her tone and he was sure on her face, though he did not make eye contact under the premise of studying the board._

_ "All right then. What do you propose?"_

_ "If I win the game, you belong to me for half an hour. You get no say in what I do to you during this time. And if you win, you get the same."_

_ "I don't wish to do anything with you for a half hour."_

_ "I can be completely silent for that time."_

_ He already could see her moves playing out across the board and smiling, he nodded. He could see his victory in only a few short moves._

_ It took five minutes before Sherlock Holmes was a knot of frustration in a chair._

_ "Checkmate."_

_ The word was poison on her red lips._

_ "You cheated!"_

_ "There is a difference between cheating and knowing old rules."_

_ "I refuse to accept this."_

_ "Refuse all you want. I have still won the wager."_

_ "Nonsense. I won't have it."_

_ "Are you going back on your word, Mr. Holmes?"_

_ That stopped him. Whatever else he had, he did have his pride and admitting defeat was an act that stated he had enough power to allow her some if she wished, while denying it was a sure way to depict himself as too weak to allow a single thread of control slip through his fingers. His teeth were gritted as he spit the words out,_

_ "What will you have me do?"_

_ She smiled._

_ "Nothing too terrible, Mr. Holmes. Get on the sofa over there and be quiet."_

Lily ate in silence, munching on an apple as she slouched over the kitchen counter, her feet dangling off the wooden stool she sat upon. The arguing/debating/whatever the couple called it had died down into silence and Lily was relieved. She loved Toby dearly and each of his parents were polite to her individually, but putting them together was mixing an interesting cocktail which she had no interest in sampling.

They hadn't left yet she knew that much. If they had, the front door would have opened and shut and so far it hadn't. She had no interest in investigating what they were doing either, as she was certain to either interrupt a moment or stir them back into arguing. Taking the baby monitor in one hand, Lily whistled softly for Pan and took the monitor, the blanket from earlier, and the corgi all out into the garden.

In the sitting room, Irene and Sherlock were quiet. His bare foot sat on her lap and she was gently rubbing it, her thumbs kneading tension out of it. Their argument had fizzled out and the silence that lay over them was not uncomfortable for either. They were two people who did not quite know how to live with one another, but as evidenced by Irene's gentle foot massage, they may be able to get there if they gave it half a chance.

**So there we are, another chapter done! Thank you very much for what reviews you have provided; they are great motivators and I love hearing feedback. Here's to another chapter: Huzzah!**


	7. Slow Progress

Slow Progress

**Though babies are fun and I believe in showing slow progress, this next chapter will skip up a bit in time because though Toby is adorable, he won't do much until he's a little older. Additionally, this chapter will be rated T for sexual references. That is all.**

Toby sat up early, as well as rolling and soon crawling. Lily caught his first time pulling himself up on camera and happily texted the video to his parents. Irene replied that she would be over later and Sherlock replied that it was developmentally very early for him to be doing so and additionally to text him when Irene left so he could come over and see his son without having an argument. After the months of dealing with Irene and Sherlock's odd dance, Lily no longer bothered attempting to question it and simply let them do whatever waltz between emotions that they did whenever they were together. She replied to both texts with a simple "sounds great" and extracted whatever new object Toby had inserted into his mouth this time around.

He was walking at eight months and a handful as soon as he discovered that he could hide things, pull power cords out, and knock things over. His favorite game was chasing Pan around and hiding the stuffed rabbit that was known only as "Bunny" and watching Lily look for it. She took him to the park to play on the swings and the slide but he seemed to prefer looking for things on the ground and picking them up. No matter how many times Lily reminded him that these things were dirty and wiped his hands clean with a wet wipe, he picked them up nonetheless and Irene seemed to be greatly amused by the list of things her son had collected throughout the day. Sherlock seemed equally interested, but his enthusiasm was channeled more through categorizing the items his son collected to search for patterns.

While his parents visited several times a week and he was always happy to see them, Toby was used to the comfortable routine set by Lily. He caught a few colds, got a few ear infections, scraped his knees, bumped his head, and went through a nasty case of strep throat all with his nanny there to kiss the scrapes better or convince him to lay in a fort made of sheets and watch movies or listen to stories when he wasn't feeling well. He would display his battle scars to his parents when they visited and was always fascinated to reach into what pockets he could get his hands into and pull out objects.

"Toby!" Lily called, "Come on sweetheart, that's dirty. Put it down."

Another day at the park and Toby was inspecting a bottle cap he found under a tree. Even though she was only a meter or two away, she still saw his telltale concentration on something in his hand and figured that (as always) he had found something on the ground. He already had a bit of a cold and had been coughing and wiping at his runny nose for a few days and the last thing she needed was for him to pick something up off of a beer bottle cap some lout had left in the childrens' park.

"Toby, you know you're not supposed to pick those up."

He made a face at her and clenched his little hands around the shiny bottle cap.

"Toby, Mummy and Daddy are coming over after lunch. Let's find something good to show them. Mummy likes flowers, why don't we go look for some?"

After a moment, Toby sheepishly offered her the bottle cap, which she pocketed until she could find a recycling bin. On their search for flowers, Toby found two more bottle caps, a wrapper for a chocolate bar, the burnt leftovers of three cigarettes, and a two pence piece. He found a few dandelions and pulled them up, toddling after Lily when she announced it was time for lunch. Bidding some of the other mothers and nannies goodbye, Toby's nanny hoisted him onto her hip and off they headed for home.

Washing hands (and the two pence piece) and coaxing Toby into putting his dandelions into a glass of water, took longer than usual and he was still eating the last of his noodles with small pieces of carrot in it when there was a soft knock on the door and then the sound of a key in the lock before it opened. Perking up immediately, Toby banged a few times on his tray and looked at Lily, whom was trying to simultaneously clean up after Toby and have something to eat.

"Give me a moment Toby."

He waited maybe fifteen seconds before banging on his tray again.

"I know you're excited to see Mummy, just hold on a minute..."

"Lily don't bother, I'll get him. Hello darling! Have you finished all your lunch?"

Toby reached for her to pick him up and Irene laughed, wiping his hands off with a wet napkin before lifting him from his high chair and allowing him to lead her over to the glass of wilted dandelions.

"Has he said anything?" Irene asked, trying to sound less anxious than she felt.

Lily shook her head. "Same as usual; quiet as a little mouse."

"And the doctor said he was all right?"

"Just a slow talker is what he said."

"But he developed so early with nearly everything else."

Lily shrugged.

"He's a happy little boy who happens to currently have bit of a cold. He'll talk when he's ready."

Irene's brow wrinkled for a moment before she nodded, accepting the statement before a knock at the door sent Toby dashing for it.

It was evident why when a moment later, Sherlock Holmes was standing in the entryway removing his latest disguise. Irene's hair was colored slightly lighter than when she had given birth to Toby and her demeanor was much more relaxed...that is unless Sherlock was around. She sauntered into the entryway after Toby and lounged against the door frame.

"Hello Sherlock."

"Irene."

Toby tugged insistently on his trouser leg so he crouched down to his son's level.

"Hello Tobias."

The little boy rushed in and hugged him, and giggled when Sherlock hesitantly tickled his sides.

"Lily tells me you found quite a collection of things today. Has she allowed you to keep any of them?"

As he slipped off his coat and hat along with his shoes, Sherlock watched Toby run back into the kitchen and heard Lily gently tell him to wait just a moment.

"Sherlock, it's been too long."

"Three weeks, four days, and eleven hours. Hardly too long."

Irene sighed.

"Must we do this every time?"

"Make intelligent conversation, and I will answer in kind."

"If I recall correctly, you've indicted to me that actions speak louder than words."

After giving her a long cool stare, Sherlock swept into the kitchen to admire the two pence piece that Toby was showing him.

___"Nothing too terrible, Mr. Holmes. Get on the sofa over there and be quiet."_

_ "What?"_

_ She smiled at him, amused, but there was a hint of steel in her tone when she repeated herself._

_ "Get on the sofa and be quiet."_

_ Swallowing his pride, he sauntered over to the sofa, pretending to not mind that he was being ordered about."_

_ "Anything else?"_

_ "I should have made myself clear. You will not speak a single word until my time is over. And my time starts now. Every time that you speak, the time starts over again. Do you understand?"_

_ Sherlock nodded, significantly less confident now. _

_"Excellent. Now lay down on the couch. Face down if you please."_

_ He would have loved to tell her he certainly did not please to lie face down on a sofa in the middle of Ireland with no company but her and nothing on but a dressing gown, but he also did not want to be under contractual obligation to obey her for any longer than necessary. He pinched his lips together and with as much dignity as he could muster, he sat, then reclined onto the sofa before rolling over. _

_ "Excellent."_

_ Her footsteps approached and he heard her kick off her slippers before her weight joined him on the couch. He felt the heat of her body against his thighs and she straddled, then seated herself on his upper thighs, sliding her body up until her pelvic bone was flush with his buttocks. The dressing gown was not exceptionally thick and he could feel her settling herself atop him before her hands ran up his back and seized his shoulders. His entire body tensed and though he was certain that she would not attempt to initiate any sexual relations with him without his consent, the though still crossed his mind. As it became more prominent, her fingers began to knead at the muscle along his shoulders. _

_ It was odd at first, but pleasant. He was surprised at how much he enjoyed the sensation, especially considering he disliked touching other people. As her hands continued the kneading down his back, tracing the muscles that were constantly tense, he could feel an entirely different sort of tension in his groin. _

Not now. This is the least convenient time for this to occur, _he thought desperately. But it seemed that as disciplined as his mind was, his body was still frustratingly human. She pressed her thumb into a knot that hovered along his spine and he barely contained the surprised yelp that rose up in his throat. The pain was not unpleasant either, which was puzzling. Though it ached and sometimes pinched, it seemed that once her hands had passed over a spot, it felt warm and relaxed. _

_ "I'm going to take off the top bit of your dressing gown now. If you wish for me to leave it on, you may indicate so my resisting or making some sort of sound. You may say no if you become uncomfortable and I will stop."_

_ He was ashamed of himself but he let her do it, complying easily. Half of his reasoning was pride, refusing to admit that she made him uncomfortable. The other half was all base instinct, not even sentiment. It was the way her hands felt on his skin and the way he could feel the pressure from her seat on his thighs all the way down through his bones and to the gentle throb that pulsed between his legs. He could stop anytime he wanted to, she had said so. He didn't want her to stop, however. He wanted her to continue. _

_ She worked her hands over his back, his neck, his shoulders, then down his arms. She kneaded and rubbed and stretched the muscles along his arms before releasing him and moving down to his legs. She gave his rear and upper thighs a reasonable berth, keeping her word about not making him uncomfortable. The muscles in his calves and knees were rubbed until they lay relaxed against the bone. And then her hands were on his feet._

_ Some have said that the feet are an erotic zone and he knew that they had plenty of nerve endings there but that did not make him any less surprised when he let out an unexpected sigh. He had only meant to exhale and somehow his body had managed to convey his pleasure without his permission. The throbbing between his legs had lessened somewhat but he could still feel it, beating in time with his pulse._

_ "Your problem is you're wound too tightly, Sherlock."_

_ He didn't even care that she had dropped all formality. His body felt...good. Really good._

_ "It's fine to be brilliant, it's fine to be sharply dressed and well spoken, but if you keep that stick up your ass then you're only going to punish your body and discourage it from helping you."_

_ "Nobody asked for your opinion," he mumbled, and as the last word escaped, he flinched, hoping that she hadn't heard him through the pillow his face was on._

_ "Your half hour just restarted."_

_ Bollocks. _

_ He was angry at himself but as her fingers finished working his feet and moved slowly up to his legs, skipped his buttocks and resumed work on his lower back, there wasn't regret as much as a smug satisfaction coming from an entirely different part of his brain. He mentally scowled at it...that is until Irene's fingers located an exquisitely tight knot at the base of his skull. Then he whimpered softly for a moment, hating himself for it, as she skimmed the outer edges of it with pressure before applying a firm hand to it. _

_ The massage went on and he felt more and more warm, more and more content. It felt good, being touched. _

_ He noticed immediately when her weight shifted upwards along his spine and though it was barely contact at all, he felt her lips brush the back of his neck, hot as a brand in his hypersensitive mind. _

_ She was breathing on his cheek and he turned his head, looking into her eyes as her warm breath slipped over his lips. She sat there for a minute, just looking at him and he looking back._

_ "Do you need something?" he managed to whisper to her._

_ "Yes. Something urgent," she whispered back._

_ "Oh?" His lips nearly touched hers as he said it, the barest pucker hinting in the round 'oh' of his mouth._

_ "Yes."When the air hissed between her teeth he could feel the line of air blow onto his lips._

_ "What's that then?" Any closer and he swore her lips would slide between his. His scientist's mind was calculating distance between lips, measuring the heartbeat pulsing in her neck along with the one he felt somewhat lower on himself._

_ "Your time, Sherlock."_

_ Something stirred in his mind but a larger part of his shoved it aside, calculating the rate of movement against the time passed and how much more whispering there would need to be before he was being kissed. Or he was kissing her. He really wasn't prepared to deal with who was kissing whom dynamic, it was the actual lip contact, the corresponding endorphin rush his body was begging for. _

_ "What about my time?"_

_ Exactly fifteen seconds and there would be lip contact. His calculations were checked twice to ensure accuracy._

_ "It's up."_

_ There. Just as she said it, a mere 3.74 seconds before lip contact would occur, she smiled at him, sat up, and removed herself from both his back and the couch._

_ What did she mean his time was up...? Oh. The wager. The chess game. His brain was still grasping at his calculations, wondering where it went wrong when Irene smiled at him again._

_ "Another game?"_

_ "Thank you no." His voice was astonishingly steady, though he could hear it was lower than usual. "I am quite content to retrieve a book from the owner's library and browse."_

_ "How did you know she had a library?"_

_ He glanced at her as he carefully pulled his arms through the sleeves of the dressing gown, retied the waist and stood._

_ "I should think it was obvious."_

_ He turned and walked towards the library room int he back of the cottage._

_ "Tell me then," she called after her._

_ "Use your brain, Irene."_

_ He had called her Irene, a final touch of familiarity to show her that he was not uncomfortable with her. She had not beaten him. They were still equals on a playing field. And he left her there in the chair by the fire, contemplating whether she had incurred a loss or a victory. Meanwhile, as he browsed the books of the old woman's collection, he wondered the same thing._

"This is a good find, Toby. Look, it's forty-five years old. That's even older than your mother."

He said it to irk her and she knew and he knew she knew and Lily knew everyone knew something and was more surprised that Irene didn't toss a backhanded compliment his way than she was that Irene smiled sweetly at the detective and remarked,

"Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of your uncle."

"Uncle?" Lily asked before glancing at both of her charge's parents and letting the matter drop.

"Right. Well um...are you both staying for supper?"

Sherlock smiled thinly as Irene said,

"We'll both stay, but he won't eat."


	8. Miscalculations

Miscalculations

"Toby!" Lily called, laughing as Toby chased Pan through the park. The corgi was clearly enjoying himself and Toby was giggling as the pair of them romped around the patch of green on a rare gem of a sunny afternoon.

The little boy paused momentarily to look at her before resuming chasing the dog. Unable to stop herself from smiling, Lily called her dog and watched Pan turn and race towards her, Toby following behind on his clumsy little legs.

She petted Pan as little Tobias Holmes toddled over. Only, when he was about halfway there, he paused and started panting. He made a few more steps before he collapsed in the grass. Pan was next to him in the blink of an eye with Lily close behind, scooping him up. His breaths came in and out as wheezes and he seemed to have trouble getting air in.

"Someone call an ambulance!" Lily shouted, trying to get Toby into a position where it would be easier for him to breathe. Cradling him, she noticed the faint tinge of blue in the beds of his nails and around his little lips. He had been wheezing occasionally for the past day or two but he was still stuck with a cold and she had hoped the fresh air and sunlight would do him some good.

It was all a blur after that and Lily was with Toby every second of the way until they got to the hospital. As they took Toby somewhere deeper into the hospital, one of the nurses stopped her.

"Are you family?"

"I'm the nanny. Please, his parents aren't here yet and he's going to be frightened if he wakes up."

"I'm sorry," she said, and she truly looked it. "But if you're not family, you aren't allowed back with him."

As soon as she was out of sight, she made three phone calls: one to Sherlock Holmes, one to Irene, and one to a third number she had been given in case of emergencies. The first, then the second went to voice mail. The third picked up and a pleasant voice said,

"Hello?"

"Hello, This is Lily, Toby's nanny. He's in the hospital and I was told to call this number in case of emergencies and Sherlock and Irene aren't picking up their phones."

"Lily, it's John—John Watson. Which hospital are you at?"

She looked around frantically before spotting a sign and spitting the hospital name through the phone as though it would get him there more quickly.

"I'll get a cab and be there in ten minutes. Stay where you are."

She picked out a hospital chair and tried to take calming breaths before calling both Sherlock and Irene back and leaving voice mail messages for them in a tone that conveyed the urgency without revealing her panic. They would both hear it in her voice anyway, but the fact that she could contain it was enough for her at the moment. There was a man in the waiting room with her. Smiling wryly, he held out a little paper box.

"Cigarette? It'll calm your nerves."

"I don't smoke," Lily told him, wishing that she did just so she would have something to do while she waited for Dr. Watson to arrive.

"Go on, just take one out for a smoke. It'll help."

"Thanks, but I've got to stay here."

He shrugged and walked to the nearest exit, pulling out a lighter as he did.

"Suit yourself."

She had long since given up chewing her nails but in times of stress old vices tend to revisit and when John Watson arrived in the children's urgent care ward, he found Lily pale and gnawing on a thumbnail which was already too short.

"Lily?"

She recognized him from the day Toby was born, but hadn't seen him since. Sherlock occasionally brought small presents from him, but neither Toby or herself had seen him since the baby was born. She assumed it was for the same safety reasons that kept Sherlock and Irene from keeping the same schedule or coming without disguises on.

"What happened?"

"He's just had a cold for a bit, a regular old cold. Little bit of a fever yesterday but he was fine today! It was nice and I took him to the park, I thought the sunshine and fresh air would do him good. He was chasing Pan around and I was calling him because I thought he ought to take a break since he was a bit ill and on the way over, he just collapsed and started wheezing and he couldn't breathe and then there was the ambulance and the hospital and I'm not family so I can't go in with him and he's probably terrified and there's no one with him and I know I'm not his mother, but he knows me better than anyone else and he needs me!"

Lily was making her best effort at holding back tears at this point, but her best efforts weren't good enough as tears ran down her cheeks.

"All right now, let's calm down. I'm going to get you a tea and talk to the nurse and we'll get you in for Toby. I don't know where his parents are but I'll call and let them know that I'm here with you."

Lily sniffed and nodded before reaching into Toby's diaper bag,, which she was still carrying, and pulling out tissues to blow her nose on and to mop the tears off of her cheeks. John patted her hand gently.

"Just breathe a bit, all right? You've just had a bit on a shock."

She nodded again, sniffling quietly to herself.

"All right then. I'll be back in a moment."

He begged a tea off one of the nurses at the nurses' station before going to talk to the nurse in charge. He explained that both of Tobias's parents were currently unable to be reached and that he, the boy's uncle, had permission to allow Lily access to the child. It took about half an hour and a bit of string-pulling, but when he got back to Lily with a paper cup of lukewarm tea, she was slightly calmer and he had good news.

"Drink this to settle your nerves, and then we can go in and see Toby. You're no good to him if you're all upset, are you?"

"I suppose not. I'm really very sorry for this. I'm usually just fine under pressure, but they wouldn't let me see him and I couldn't get a hold of Sher-"

John silenced her by firmly patting her hand.

"I know. But I'm here now and it will be all right."

"Silly of me," she muttered, sipping the tepid tea and mopping her face off with another tissue. "Getting upset doesn't do me any good."

"Understandable," John assured her.

She drained the last of the tea and tossed the cup in the rubbish bin before following John to the doors that led to the children's urgent care ward. The nurse that met them looked less than thrilled, but led them back to a room where Toby was lying in a hospital crib, one arm strapped outwards with an IV running into it and a strap across his chest. He was dozing and Lily was shocked that he was asleep.

"He was screaming for so long, I think they just tired him out. He wakes up every few minutes or so. An oxygen tent is being brought over; there was a mix-up and they brought us the wrong size so we're working on it. Any questions?"

"Can I touch him?"

"Once you scrub down, yes."

"Will I be able to hold him?"

"Once he's in the oxygen tent, you will be allowed to stay there with him."

"How long will the IV be in?"

"It's an antibiotic solution along with fluids. We're running a few tests to see what it causing this. Once we determine what it is, the IV may be able to come out."

"Do you have any ideas of what it might be?" John asked, and the nurse shrugged.

"Could be a lot of things. Best guess right now is RSV."

"RSV?" Lily asked anxiously.

"Respiratory Syncytial Virus. It starts with cold-like symptoms and then it causes infection in the lungs and breathing passages. You can clean your hands with the sanitizing soap there and then get a sterile mask from the box."

"Thank you."

As the nurse left the room, Lily looked over at John as she pumped some of the soap into her hand and turned on the tap.

"Where are Sherlock and Irene?"

John shook his head.

"I don't know. But right now you stay with Toby and I'll see about contacting them through some mutual acquaintances."

-_Sicily, Three Months After the Massage Indecent-_

_ He was lying in the shade reading a local history of the area when a warm voice purred at him in rudimentary Italian that he was trespassing. He knew her voice from the first word and he lowered his sunglasses to glance up at her._

_ "There wasn't a sign."_

_ She indicated a neatly hanging sign from a nearby tree._

_ "I'm so sorry miss, I don't speak Italian. English?" He said in the accent of a lower London accent._

_ She smirked at him._

_ "Would you like to come inside?"_

_ "Why would I want to do that?"_

_ "Because even in that vacation getup, you're not comfortable in the heat."_

_ It was true. Even in the loose cotton shirt and light shorts, he was sweating. His feet had tan thongs on them and between the sunglasses and the shoes, he looked very much the inexperienced tourist._

_ "What if I said I was comfortable?"_

_ "You would be lying."_

_ "Yes? How can you tell?"_

_ She smiled._

_ "Damn spots under your arms, red cheeks, sweat along your hairline and a touch of pink around the collar of that shirt where you've gotten too much sun. Gin and tonic?"_

_ "I'd prefer something less strong."_

_ "Getting weak on me, Sherlock?"_

_ "Merely dehydrated."_

_ When she turned towards the gate, he got up, marking his place in the book, and followed her inside._

_ "I have still water, tea, cappuccino, and there's a bottle of squash leftover from the last resident if you like. What brings you to Sicily?"_

_ "New climate, new disguise. You're clearly here working some sort of game."_

_ "I prefer to think of it as work."_

_ "John thinks his blogging is work. Doesn't mean it is."_

_ "Misbehaving then."_

_ "I presumed. I'll have the still water."_

_ He helped himself to olives in a bowl on the counter, spitting the pits into the trash can. _

_ "Curious about my misbehavings?"_

_ "Hardly. But clearly you're eager to share."_

_ "Eager isn't the word I'd use."  
"You've brought it up several times after I dismissed the topic. I am not the most capable at social interaction, but from what I understand, persistence indicates you do indeed wish to talk about it."_

_ "John's been training you well, I see."_

_ "Hardly."_

_ "I'm here for the prime minister's niece."_

_ "Politics, not love."_

_ "Obviously," she replied, handing him a bottle of still water. _

_ "She's connected with someone who knows information you want. Interesting, not working for anyone."_

_ She wasn't surprised that he knew all of that. Observation was his specialty._

_ "Very good, Sherlock."_

_ "Hardly. It was all quite obvious."_

_ "If you can guess who, I'll let you have a prize."_

_ "I don't need an incentive to deduce things, Irene."_

_ "Oh?"_

_ "She's clearly not interested in you sexually as she is rigidly heterosexual so you come in as a friend, a confidant. She stays here at least one night a week, but in your bedroom rather than the spare; she is nervous about being alone. She is seeing someone rather important that you can get information from. He confides in her because she is the Prime Minister's niece as well as his lover. As far as who, the only logical two choices are the head of the Italian intelligence network or someone in security—not the head, it's a woman and she's married. Probably a deputy, there are two of them and one is male and classically attractive."_

_ "Which is it?"_

_ Sherlock's eyes scanned Irene, then the room._

_ "The deputy. The head of intelligence is slightly too old for her."_

_ "Very good, Sherlock. Would you like your prize?"_

_ "I have told you that a prize isn't necessary."_

_ "Well I have aloe vera for the sun burns on your shoulders and I suspect your back as well. They look quite painful."_

_ Sherlock paused. _

_ "That would be acceptable."_

_ "Excellent. Pop off your shirt and I'll fetch it."_

_ After having her knead his muscles and see him in nothing but a robe, being shirtless didn't faze him. He knew the effect she could have on his body and was determined that this time, he would not be the one bending to another's whims. He was determining how precisely he would remain unyielding when she came back in a bra and a loose skirt carrying a small tub of aloe vera gel._

_ "I got a burn a few days ago...so I will dress your burn if you dress mine." Her smile was pleasant and didn't seem to be hinting at anything more, which was more suspicious than if she had been. _

_ He nodded stiffly and set his shirt on the sofa, lowering himself to the floor and crossing his legs so she could more easily access his back and shoulders. Hearing the tub open with a soft 'pop', Sherlock expected her to touch him very quickly. However, when she finally began spreading the soothing gel over his skin, it was in slow, gentle strokes, reminiscent of the evening in an Irish storm they had shared a few months prior. The application of aloe took very little time and after a minute or so, she walked around in front of him, showing a faintly pink, still clearly healing back._

_ "I'll just lay down on the couch so it can dry when you've finished. I do enjoy a little siesta in the afternoons when I can afford it."_

_ Setting the tub on the floor, Irene lay face down on the minty green sofa and reached back, unhooking her bra._

_ "The entire back please, Sherlock. It was a rather serious burn and I want to ensure it heals properly."_

_ He didn't say anything and instead, scooped some aloe from the tub and onto his fingers. Gently, mindful of her tender skin, he spread a layer of it over her skin, starting on the back of her neck and shoulders._

_ "It doesn't hurt anymore, you don't have to be so timid."_

_ He snorted and continued, losing the so-called timidity in favor of a firm hand rubbing the aloe into her skin to be absorbed. After he was finished, he paused, scooped just a little aloe onto his fingers, and began to very gently rub small circles at the base of her neck, carefully moving along one shoulder blade at a time. Recalling the way her fingers had stroked, worked, and kneaded his muscles, he tried his best to replicate those motions. He did not find any knots, which did not surprise him in the least. He assumed she was accustomed to massages, which was what made his actions so odd. They were unexpected._

_ His hands worked across her shoulders, down her spine, along her sides, and then after a moment of hesitation, worked the muscles of her legs, then her feet. He moved back up to the back, then to her arms. The aloe was gone from his fingers now and he began gently massaging her neck. Hand creeping slowly upward, he pulled the clip from her hair and ran his fingers over her scalp, massaging her head, the base of her skull, her temples. He was both surprised and pleased when she gave a little sigh of contentment._

_ "That feels lovely."_

_ The remark spooked him a bit, as she had been silent this whole time. Reaching behind her back, she hooked her bra back together and sat up before sliding off the couch so she sat on the floor next to Sherlock._

_ "I see you've learned something from me."_

_ "The knowledge has proven useful."_

_ "Mmm. Would you like me to give you more knowledge?"_

_ "If it can be of use. No point in totally useless information."_

_ "It will help you understand people better."_

_ "What good will understanding do?"_

_ "See into their minds and hearts and you can catch them, convince them, and correct them all without being noticed."_

_ Intrigued, Sherlock studied her. Her eyes were dilated and he was sure his were too, at least slightly. Though it was bright outside, the inside of the house was dimmer and cooler as well._

_ "What is this technique?"_

_ "Well I can't teach you them all. I was thinking of starting with something small."_

_ "Such as?"_

_ "Something I began to teach you a while ago."_

_ "Oh?"_

_ She leaned in closer to him._

_ "Lesson number one, consent is everything. Lesson number two, pleasure opens a lot of doors."_

_ "Pleasure?" he asked._

_ She leaned in close, her breath on his lips and instantly he was in Ireland again in the little cottage with her, his clothes hanging by the fire, another man's dressing gown his only clothing._

_ "Pleasure," she repeated. And she leaned in slightly closer and brushed her lips against his. _

_ Everything in his mind happened at once, every process slamming into overdrive as he processed the sensation, the rush of chemicals in his brain, the way her hand was gently resting on his knee._

I appear to have miscalculated,_ he thought to himself. But at the same time, he didn't mind that this was not what he had calculated as an occurrence. He was certain that others may have found it obvious, but he had disposed of certain information about interpersonal relations because of their uselessness to him. He could spot an affair at six meters but when it came to his own body and his own relationship, however complex, with others, he was as clueless as any normal man, probably more so._

_ It was to her surprise as well as his when she ended the kiss and looked up at him from only centimeters away. _

_ "Learn anything?" Her smile was sultry and she looked pleased with herself. He reassured himself that it was for the element of surprise and definitely not sentiment when he leaned in towards her and kissed her again, effectively silencing any further questions._

The oxygen tent over Toby's crib made a constant low hum from the pump and Lily lay on a cot next to the crib, one hand inside of it gently stroking Toby's belly, his head, his little legs, anywhere she could reach. He still cried periodically, but seemed more exhausted than anything else. Whenever he awoke screaming, she sang whatever came to mind in a low, soothing voice. Sometimes it was the Beatles, a lullaby, a hymn from a church she had once attended, others it was something she'd heard on the radio or the theme to a show on the telly. Toby didn't seem to particularly care what she sang, but he quieted some when she did so she continued, sticking her head out from under the oxygen tent when she could. It was humid under there to help the baby breathe but it wasn't doing wonders for her.

It took an hour to convince one of the nurses that he would struggle less if he was moved to a children's bed and she could stay with him. In the end it was John that managed it and though she couldn't convince them to unstrap his arm and chest because of the way he pulled at the IV, she did eventually have her way.

It took another hour before John came back into the room with something for her to eat and the news that Sherlock and Irene were on their way and that additionally, Toby would be moved elsewhere. The large, public hospital was not a good place for the security and secrecy required to ensure it was not discovered that Toby was the son of the country's best detective and a woman that had died years ago.

Finally, after a total of six hours since Toby had fallen in the park, he was settled in a private room at a small hospital near the center of London. They were on the top few floors and Buckingham Palace was visible through one of the south windows. The room they were in was painted in pastels and instead of being strapped down to prevent him from interfering with the IV, Toby wore a sort of brace over his arm that held the tube in without needing him restrained entirely. The bed in the room was large enough for Lily to lie down with Toby, who didn't like the oxygen tent very much and was mostly being held there by Lily telling him stories and reassuring him that if he stayed under the tent then he could have jelly with his supper.

Supper was late and accompanied by three people: Sherlock Holmes, Irene, and a balding man who looked like he had swallowed a lemon.

"Lily, this is Tobias's Uncle Mycroft."

While Lily shook hands with her charge's uncle, Irene rushed over to the oxygen tent and slipped underneath it to greet her son. Meanwhile, Sherlock examined the room and all the apparatuses used within it.

"You certainly paid a fortune for this," he muttered to his brother, whom sniffed.

"My only nephew whom I have never met was ill. And it would be better for you, myself, and his mother if his existence was kept out of public knowledge. The money was worth it."

A wailing cry came from under the tent and Lily rushed over to where Toby was screaming and reaching.

"Toby, what is it?" Irene asked.

He wailed louder and Lily sat down beside him.

"Toby, I know that you don't feel well and you're not happy, but I need you to tell us what you want, all right? Screaming isn't helping us figure out what you need."

The little boy went quiet for a moment and then he sniffed and looked up at his mother and his nanny.

"I want Daddy."

**AHHHHHH Toby's first words as well as some hints about the beginnings of Sherlock and Irene's relationship...whatever it is. If you enjoyed this, please review! I love feedback and I like knowing what you all think! **


	9. Variables

**CONTENT WARNING: The following chapter contains references to drugs and sex. Rating may be high T to low M for this chapter during the flashback. **

Variables

_ "I want Daddy."_

Irene almost looked upset when she came out from under the oxygen tent and walked over to Sherlock.

"He asked for you."

"Nonsense; Toby can't talk yet."

"Well he just said 'I want Daddy' very clearly. So do shut up and go to your son; he needs you."

Startled, Sherlock blinked at her, and then wordlessly walked over to the oxygen tent and ducked underneath.

Lily looked up at the detective, paler than usual and looking alarmed.

"She said Toby asked for me."

Toby's face lit up and he reached his arms towards his father, who sat awkwardly on the bed beside the child. He gingerly stroked Toby's hair and as his son began wheezing again, Sherlock looked over at Lily, face in total panic.

"What do I do?"

Lily gently eased Toby so he was leaning forward and guided Sherlock's arms so he was supporting his son.

"It's all right Toby. Calm down, okay? Daddy's here. Lets take some deep, slow breaths."

The wheezing continued for a minute and Lily pressed a button to call the nurse while quietly reassuring Toby that it was all right and he was safe. Sherlock seemed paralyzed in place, holding his son as though he thought the little boy might break until the nurse came and helped Toby to inhale some medicine before bringing him something to eat. It wasn't long before plates were clean and Lily was singing "Hey Jude" softly to Toby as he drifted off to sleep, his hand curled around Sherlock's first and middle fingers.

Sherlock was able to slip out from under the tent and Lily followed quickly before Toby could wake up. Once out of the room, they found Mycroft and Irene talking to a doctor who was nodding quietly in response to their remarks.

"Married, cheating on his wife with one, no two of the nurses. Keeps tropical fish, confident, capable of his job, knowledgeable in children's illness, attracted to Irene. Nails clipped two days ago, scratch on his arm from a bush by his front door, rosebush. Shoes custom made, shined by someone other than himself, steady hands, almost obsessively tidy, hasn't eaten supper yet."

Lily glanced over at Sherlock, whom had muttered out a stream of observations as they came to him. There was a glint in his eye that she recognized as the same one he used when he was about to pick a fight with Irene.

Usually she would need a little extra courage to try to stop Sherlock from doing anything but it had been a long, stressful, exhausting day and she did not have the energy to deal with more than what was already on her plate. She grasped the cuff of the detective's coat firmly and made eye contact in less than a second as he registered her hold on his sleeve.

"Not now," she whispered so softly that he was reading her lips more than hearing her. "Whatever you think about the doctor, he is in charge of Toby's care and if you start a shouting match you'll likely wake him."

Sherlock's brain came up with six logical protests but under the steady and exhausted gaze of the woman who cared for his son, he sighed silently and nodded at her, the annoyance clear in his gaze. She released his sleeve and followed him towards his brother, his...whatever Irene was to him, and the doctor.

"How is he?" His tone was clipped to the point of rudeness but not overly antagonistic.

"RSV we think. A rather severe case, but not lethal or even harmful in the long run. He'll need to be here a few days and rest as much as possible. We'll keep him on oxygen until he can breathe without wheezing and continue to give him antibiotics as a preventative measure since his lungs are particularly susceptible to attack right now."

"And no one will know he is here or who he is?"

"Discretion is our specialty."

He opened his mouth to point out that it hardly took a genius to locate an identity, especially that with familiar public figures attached to him, but Irene shoved her hand forcefully into his coat pocked and seized his hand, squeezing firmly, her gaze icy. His mouth closed and he nodded.

"Will that be all?"

The doctor was addressing Mycroft this time and the older man waved his hand in a dismissive gesture with a gentle incline of his head and a soft,

"Thank you for your time."

The doctor turned and walked away, leaving the four adults standing in the chilly corridor.

"Anyone for a coffee?" Mycroft asked, "You all look as though you could use it."

"Sentiment, Mycroft?" Sherlock sniped and his brother ignored him.

"I could use a coffee," Lily piped up. "Who knows when Toby will wake up; someone should be with him."

"Lily, you've done plenty for today. Why don't you go back to the house and rest? I'll have the maids come tomorrow morning and clean everything so the house won't have any viruses or germs left for when Toby gets home."

The nanny shook her head.

"I couldn't leave him here all night without me. What if he gets frightened?"

"Sherlock and I are here Lily. Go home for tonight. We'll call you if he wakes up or if anything changes."

Nodding slowly, Lily returned to Toby's room and gathered her coat and bag. Mycroft handed her a coffee as Irene escorted her to the private elevator and pressed a twenty pound note into her hand for a cab.

"Call if you need me to bring anything in the morning," Lily said as the doors of the elevator began to close. Her employer nodded in response and the elevator began to descend.

_ There was a knock on her hotel door and there he was, pale and stony, hands trembling by his sides._

_ "Sherlock?"_

_ "Turn on the telly." He pushed past her into the room. "They have BBC 1, correct?"_

_ "I assume so," she said, closing the door as Sherlock fumbled with the remote before pressing the correct buttons. When BBC 1 came on, it was in a blast of noise and the screen was alight with footage of smoke and fire. The presenter was saying something about a hospital bombing._

_ "It has been over twelve hours and we are still missing several staff, two being doctors John Watson and Allen Franks whose last known whereabouts were to go try to get patients out on the far end of the hospital shortly after the bomb was discovered. The casualties are in the hundreds and the missing are assumed to be either dead or close to it. Rescue crews say that some of the hospital is still unsafe to search for survivors."_

_ "Sherlock," she began, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand._

_ "John is likely dead. Declaring sympathy will not change that."_

_ He watched the loop of unchanging replays of the bombing and aftermath for two hours before she took the remote from his hand and shut off the telly._

_ "Sherlock."_

_ "I'm fine."_

_ "Bullshit."_

_ The word was crisp and blunt; he flinched as though she had struck him. _

_ "I have lost others before."_

_ "And you've tried to remedy that by throwing yourself into work, which you have none of here, or drugs, which it looks as though you've resisted thus far."_

_ "My Finnish is rubbish and you can hardly ask for cocaine in English around this sort of town."_

_ "You're not getting your hands on any cocaine."_

_ "It helps me to think."_

_ "The only thing you have to think about is something you should be feeling instead of rationalizing."_

_ "I'm quite sure you're very experienced in helping others feel, Miss Adler."_

_ He had dropped their rapport and reduced her to her surname again, delivering his snipe with a tone of sharp disdain. It stung but she didn't let it show._

_ "If you want to get high, you should be more polite."_

_ His interest flickered and he glanced at her._

_ "Your sort of connections don't extend to that sort of thing."_

_ He was unsure and she could hear it in his voice._

_ "I can make you a deal."_

_ "You don't require money."_

_ "No."_

_ "Then what is the exchange rate?" This was delivered in a demanding growl and if she hadn't known that he was mourning the loss of a friend that nearly understood him, he would have thought him angry, even borderline mad._

_ "You sample something for me."_

_ "Sample?"_

_ She brushed aside his scoffing incredulity and looked into his eyes, serious._

_ "I can get you high without procuring cocaine or anything of the like. If you agree to sample my version first and you don't find it to your liking, then I will get you what you want. If you refuse to try it, you will remain here with me and get nothing."_

_ He snorted at her, stood, and walked towards the door._

_ "Seems an unfair exchange."_

_ "You won't get out."_

_ "What?"_

_ "I know the manager of the hotel...well I know what he likes. And I'll be barricaded in this room undisturbed for at least two days unless I tell him otherwise."_

_ "You're bluffing."_

_ "Am I?"_

_ He tested the doorknob and found it unmoving. There was no keyhole on the inside. He rattled it again and the door did not yield._

_ "What is this?"_

_ "I thought you might come. I thought you would be high already, granted, but I thought you might come. I am the only one who knows you are alive in this world and as much as you dislike being dependent on others, I assumed you would come somewhere to ride out the high."_

_ "It seems you were correct only on some details."_

_ "Something I'm grateful for."_

_ "I could shout. Make noise."_

_ "These rooms are soundproofed."_

_ He tried a new tactic._

_ "What are the side effects of this drug?"_

_ "Exhaustion mostly. Muscle looseness, an excess of leftover dopamine and serotonin perhaps."_

_ "Addictive?"_

_ "Not like cocaine or nicotine, but yes."_

_ "More serious?"_

_ "Less."_

_ "I'll manage. What is it."_

_ "You're not going to like it."_

_ "If you're trying to make me beg, it won't work. Just give it to me."_

_ "Sit down."_

_ "Fine."_

_ He selected a chair and flopped down._

_ "Shoes off."_

_ "Is the power trip helping you?"_

_ "Just take them off."_

_ He didn't cease glaring at her but he kicked off his shoes anyhow._

_ "Any other unnecessary requests?"_

_ "Just that if you need me to stop, tell me."_

_ "If it's not as addictive as cocaine then there is nothing you can do that I haven't already experienced."_

_ She kicked off her shoes and knelt between his legs, undoing his belt._

_ "What are you doing?"_

_ "About to get you high."_

_ She pulled out his belt and undid the button of his trousers before sliding his zipper down._

_ "Miss Adler."_

_ "If you want me to stop, tell me so. I can guarantee that this will give you a high. Which do you want more, your pride or to forget for a while?"_

_ Sherlock looked down at her, then closed his eyes._

_ "Do it."_

_ Irene gently slipped her hand up his thigh and began to gently stroke his crotch, running a hand back and forth over his boxers. Sherlock's torso and face stiffened for a moment, then relaxed._

_ "You need to tell me if you want me to stop." _

_ "You said this would make it go away. How long will it take?"_

_ "Not very long if you relax; a few minutes perhaps."_

_ He shut his eyes and attempted to relax his muscles. Her strokes grew less gentle and it was maybe a minute before she could feel him pressing back from under his boxers. Glancing up to ensure that he was still okay with it, Irene slid her hand under his boxers and drew him out slowly, stroking him a few times before she opened her mouth and lowered her head to his groin, her lips slowly closing around him. He shuddered and exhaled._

_ "Stop."_

_ It was barely a whisper but Irene heard him and she stopped, sitting up and looking him in the eye._

_ "This is indecent."  
"It's only sex, Sherlock."_

_ "You are supposed to be giving me a high...not...degrading yourself."_

_ "I think it's a bit unfair to decide for me what is and isn't degrading, don't you?"_

_ "I won't do it."_

_ He tucked himself back into his boxers and zipped up his trousers._

_ "May I try something else? Something you would find less...degrading?"_

_ He nodded and she took him by the hand, leading him to the bed._

_ "Lie down."_

_ "I will not be having sex."_

_ "I didn't say you would."_

_ He climbed onto the bed, lanky and awkward, and allowed her to turn back the covers for him. He gave her a slow nod when she removed his shirt and trousers, then climbed into bed next to him._

_ "Roll onto your side."_

_ He did, and then started when she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close to her. Slowly, she leaned her head close to his ear and began to whisper. He didn't recognize it at first, but it took less than a second. Equations._

_ In his ear she whispered equations, chemistry problems, even the periodic table. She rubbed his back again, gently and stopping whenever he tensed, waiting for his consent to resume. Afterwards, she rolled him towards her and gently began to kiss him. He allowed it at first, and then he joined in. _

_ She could feel the moment that he let go of himself. His kissed became violent, urgent, a plea to let him forget what he was feeling and replace it with something else. He clutched at her, pulling her smaller, softer form close. He allowed the sensations, the rushing chemicals, the smell and taste and sound of her to overwhelm him. He ran each chemical, analyzed every pressure, and then it just didn't matter. Everything was enough. _

_ It was maybe half an hour later when Irene gently pried herself away from him._

_ "When was the last time you slept?"_

_ "Not more than a week. I've gone longer."_

_ "Sherlock I need sleep. Even if you don't."_

_ He looked at her suspiciously,_

_ "You want me to rest."_

_ "Yes I do. But if you can't I want you to stay here with me while I do."_

_ There were a thousand things he could have said, some hurtful, others irrelevant, others still to try and make her let him out of the hotel room. Deep down, however, he knew that this was where he needed to be until he got confirmation that John was dead. So when she stripped down to her knickers and an overlarge jumper, turned the light out, and climbed in beside him, he closed his eyes, let himself relax, and tried to sleep._

There was a small couch covered in plastic in Toby's room as well as a few chairs. As the hours drew later, Irene curled up on the couch, her head in Sherlock's lap as he absentmindedly stroked her hair, staring into space. Toby woke up several times during the night and eventually the three of them ended up crowded into the bed under the oxygen tent, Toby fast asleep between his parents.

It was maybe five in the morning when Irene woke up to a gentle hand on her arm. Lily, looking freshly showered and exhausted, beckoned to her. Looking over at Sherlock, she saw he had an arm curled under Toby while the other reached across to keep a hand on her hip. Lily mouthed

"Don't wake them," and Irene slid out from under Sherlock's hand and from under the oxygen tent to the couch where Lily had several paper bags and a tray of steaming cups of coffee.

"Oh God, you're a saint Lily."

Irene dumped several packets of sugar into the coffee, stirred, and unceremoniously took an enormous gulp, ignoring the heat searing her tongue, then the back of her throat.

"I thought I might take an early shift for a few hours while you went home, showered, and changed."

Irene took another swallow of coffee.

"I couldn't leave them."

"You made me go home last night; I'm returning the favor. Sherlock's still here and Toby's asleep. He probably won't wake until you're back."

"He hasn't said anything since last night when he asked for Sherlock."

"He clearly can talk, he's just not ready to do it yet," Lily reassured her softly, stirring cream into her coffee.

"It makes me wonder if this was the right thing."

"You're doing it to keep him safe."

"He spends more time with a nanny than with either of his parents."

Lily handed her a scone.

"Go home, take a shower, change clothes. You can contemplate firing me when you get back."

Irene nodded at her, offering a halfhearted smile.

"I couldn't fire you; I'd just want to take more time for Toby. Maybe have you work less days a week so he could have a day or two with his father and I."

Lily nodded and after eating her scone and finishing her coffee, Irene quietly gathered her things and left via the elevator at the end of the hall.

She was gone an hour and a half before Sherlock emerged, quiet but rumpled, from under the oxygen tent, and found Lily asleep on the couch with the food and now-lukewarm coffee on the little side table.

Sighing quietly to himself, Sherlock walked down the hall to locate the men's room and splash some cold water on his face. He was strangely awake, though he supposed that actually sleeping may have had something to do with his unusual alertness. Recalling his hand on Irene's him and his other arm curled underneath his son, he wondered if those sentiments, those sensations were what family was meant to feel like.


	10. Chemicals

Chemicals

It was around two in the afternoon and Toby had been in the hospital about four and a half days when he was wheeled out in a little wheelchair to the private car that Mycroft had sent to pick them up. Toby, though a little paler and thinner than his usual self, seemed pleased to be leaving the hospital. The past few days had taken a toll on the little family. After the first night, no one had really slept except for Toby and Lily, who was half-ordered half-shoved into the elevator each evening, and even she didn't sleep well. Sherlock was silent and stiff, responding only to his son, and Irene had the air of a coiled viper, loaded with venom and ready to strike the second someone gave her a reason.

Toby was in a car seat between his parents with Lily sitting quietly in the passenger seat, occasionally glancing at the driver's mirrored sunglasses wondering why he was wearing them seeing as in typical London fashion, it was overcast and looked like it was debating a light drizzle just for the hell of it. When they reached an upscale building with a doorman which Irene tipped (because Lily didn't know to do so and Sherlock didn't care to), they rode up several stories and found themselves in one of Mycroft's offices.

There was a long pause as Irene balanced Toby on her hip, Sherlock pointedly ignored his brother, and Lily stood uncomfortably behind the trio, feeling very out of place. After a solid minute of silence, Lily opened her mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by Irene's smooth purr.

"Why are we here?"

"I should think it obvious. Sherlock?"

"He expects to be thanked."

"Try again, though thanks would be appreciated."

"He wants to discuss visiting Tobias more often."

Mycroft smiled.

"Precisely."

"I don't see why you find it necessary to visit my son," Sherlock told him coldly.

"Family is everything. And...well Mummy will be ever so put out if she doesn't learn of her grandson."

Sherlock blew air out of his nostrils forcefully and scowled.

"You know very well that we are not telling Mummy about any of this."

"I think to ensure that it occurs, I ought to be able to see him a few tmes a month."

"A few times a year perhaps."

"Twice a month."

"Once every six months."

"Monthly."

"Every other month."

"I think monthly will do nicely."

Sherlock's scowl deepened.

"Any other suggestions for raising my son?"

Irene stepped forward, venom in her voice.

"Mr. Holmes, I do believe that neither you nor your mother has any say over what happens to my son. Currently, he is primarily cared for by Lillian as well as myself and his father."

Toby wriggled to get down and Irene instead passed him to Lily, who pulled a small toy train from her pocket and offered it to Toby. He turned it over and over in his hands, fascinated. After a moment, Lily put him down and watched him push the train along the border of the carpet.

"Ms. Adler, you are dead and Tobias does not exist as far as most of the population of the world knows. I don't think that me asking to see him occasionally is much to ask considering I am assisting in keeping his existence and your own a secret."

Irene gritted her teeth and glanced at Sherlock, who minutely dipped his head before kneeling down next to Toby and his train. Irene glanced down at the pair of them before nodding shortly at Mycroft Holmes.

"Once a month will suffice. No more often. And you will notify myself, Sherlock, and Lily a full two weeks before your planed date and time so we can all be sure to make space in our schedules."

"That sounds satisfactory."

Lily looked to both parents, then sighed and picked up Toby, carrying him over to the desk.

"Toby, this is your uncle Mycroft."

Mycroft held out a hand, bemused, though he was significantly less amused when Toby ignored it pointedly in favor of picking up a gilt little hunting dog off of the edge of the desk and sticking it in his mouth.

"That was given to me by-" Mycroft began,

"No one cares," Sherlock snapped as Lily softly cajoled the child into giving her back the figurine and setting it, drool and all, onto his desk.

"I suppose we'll be going now," the nanny said, barely concealing a smile. When they got into the elevator, she burst into laughter which Sherlock, then Irene, joined in.

"He hasn't put things in his mouth in ages!" Irene chuckled.

"He's a very smart boy, aren't you Toby? That was very rude." Lily bit her lip to keep from smiling. "You knew exactly what you were doing."

Toby revealed a few teeth in a wide grin and reached for his father.

"Daddy doesn't like Uncle Mycroft very much so neither do you, eh?"

Toby giggled and Sherlock held him up to eye level.

"You have definitely inherited my intellect, Tobias. Good show."

"Sherlock!" Lily said in a mildly scolding tone, but Irene brushed the exclamation aside.

"He's learning to determine who he does and doesn't like. I see no problem with it."

Rolling her eyes, Lily rode the rest of the way down the elevator as Sherlock tried to coax Toby into saying 'Mycroft is a moron' with absolutely no results.

_"You're still here," Sherlock mumbled when he awoke. Irene was sitting in a dressing gown and sipping tea from a white mug identical to the second one on the breakfast tray beside her. _

_ "And you actually slept."_

_ "Unfortunate genetic defect."_

_ Irene took another sip of tea and indicated the two covered silver dishes._

_ "There's breakfast."_

_ "I'm not hungry."_

_ "I'm sure you weren't tired either."_

_ He snorted and rolled out of bed, shuffling silently to the hotel's spacious bathroom. She didn't hold herself back from admiring his sleep-tousled hair, the lines the sheet had left on his skin. He was still in only his boxers and she allowed her eyes to run over his nearly-naked form._

_ "Do stop objectifying me, Irene."_

_ "Make me."_

_ His response was a low rumble which the firm click of the bathroom door cut off. His warm, sleepy baritone made a line of warmth tingle down her spine and settle just above her tailbone. She sipped tea, waiting for him to emerge, which he eventually did, this time in a hotel-issue robe tied at the waist._

_ "My clothes are dirty."_

_ "I've taken the liberty of having some things sent up."_

_ He didn't ask how she knew his sizes, only helped himself to the second cup of tea and lifted both silvery lids over the breakfast plates, setting them aside._

_ "Traditional English breakfast?"_

_ Irene shrugged,_

_ "I thought if you were tired enough to sleep, you may be hungry enough to eat."_

_ He scowled at her but his heart wasn't in it as he sullenly picked up a fork and began to eat his breakfast with an air of one to whom a great injustice has been done. After only a few bites, Irene looked up at him, her grin wicked._

_ "Would you like a shower afterwards?"_

_ Suspicious, he asked._

_ "Is it necessary?"_

_ "Your untidiness bothers you more than it bothers me."_

_ It was true and he stopped himself from flinching as she brought to his attention the fact that he had not bathed in a week or so. He had been ignoring it but once it was brought to his attention, it seemed that every speck of dirt on his skin was suddenly itching, rubbing, irritating his skin._

_ "You did that on purpose."_

_ "Yes. Because I'm going to shower after breakfast."_

_ "To frustrate me, obviously."_

_ "Frustrate?" Irene smiled. "Hardly; I was going to offer to share."_

_ "Share?"_

_ "The shower, Sherlock. Do use your brain." _

_ He sneered at her, took another bite of breakfast._

_ "I fail to see the point."_

_ "Water conservation, experimentation, entertainment, because you can't reach the middle of your back and need someone to wash it for you."_

_ "You're trying to make me uncomfortable."_

_ "I'm trying to test your boundaries, see what you're comfortable with."_

_ "I submitted to your experimentation last night. Surely that is enough for one visit."_

_ "Did you not feel the effects?"_

_ "Hardly as effective as cocaine. But yes...to a minor degree. Afterwards was akin to having a nicotine buzz."_

_ "And knowing that,you aren't willing to see what else can give you that same buzz?"_

_ "I have no need for it right now."_

_ "Aren't experiments done best when they are not rushed? If you wish to replicate the high again, mustn't you first experience it while you have time to process it fully?"_

_ He looked coolly at her over his tea._

_ "Your subtlety is lacking."_

_ "I'm not trying to be subtle."_

_ They stared at each other until Irene set down her mug. _

_ "Leave the door unlocked if company is welcome. If it isn't, I'll shower after you."_

_ He nodded slowly, then rose and walked from the room. A moment later, the door clicked shut. His fingers on the key sitting loosely in the bathroom door, Sherlock started to turn it, then reversed the twist and left the key on the edge of the marble sink. Shivering partially from cold and partially from his own daring, he shrugged out of the robe and reached into the shower, turning the knobs until the water was steaming. He had only just stepped in when he heard the doorknob jiggle softly, then turn as the door clicked open._

_ "Sherlock Holmes."_

_ He swore her voice wove its way into his bones; he could feel it everywhere._

_ "Yes?" _

_ His voice was embarrassingly deep and it echoed faintly in the enclosed space. He caught his breath as her pale leg slipped into the shower, followed by the rest of her. _

_ It was not the nudity that bothered him; he had seen her naked the first time he met her. He had her figure memorized and her face etched into his memory. He had seen her all dressed up and with her hair wet from showering. In Karachi he had come very close to much more but between exhaustion and her recent brush with death, they had instead slept in the same bed, reassuring themselves that they were both alive and still there. It was sentiment he denied to himself often, though then and there the denial was slipping away._

_ For her, it was partially his naked form, but more his face, soft and vulnerable and adorably puzzled, as though he had no idea what to do with her. She had a few ideas, but kept them to herself. _

_ "Pass the shampoo, would you?" She slipped past him and under the stream of water, feeling his skin, wet from steam and condensation, gloriously silky where she brushed it. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and began to get her hair wet._

_ After that it got...uncomfortable...for Sherlock. The shower was an intimate place; a place that you were never monitored, completely free to think and behave as you willed it. And now, in one of his private thinking spaces there was a woman—The Woman to be specific. The Woman naked and wet and in the shower with him...and it was incredibly uncomfortable. However, all of that discomfort was not as negative as he expected. Some of it was a prickling along his skin, an itching to just reach out and touch her because there was no one watching and once they stepped out of this little space he could erase it if he chose, make it so it had never happened._

_ When her eyes opened, they were expectant, and ever so gently, he leaned down and brushed a kiss against her lips. He told himself that the burst of lightning that shot down his spine was just a coincidence, but as he kissed her a second time and the energy crackled in his veins, he knew it wasn't a coincidence but rather his body responding to nearly unknown stimuli. When he pulled away, she smiled up at him._

_ "I was expecting the shampoo, but that was nicer."_

_ He looked almost embarrassed but Irene smiled up at him. _

_ "Did you not enjoy yourself?"_

_ He licked his lips._

_ "The serotonin rush appears to indicate I have."_

_ She chuckled softly._

_ "Do you ever enjoy anything without analyzing it?"_

_ He opened his mouth to protest, but she stood on her toes and pressed her mouth to his. Her arms, slick with water wrapped around his neck as she tilted her head and ran her tongue along his lower lip, then nipped it gently with her teeth. He gave a little gasp of surprise and she pulled away._

_ "Did you analyze that?"_

_ He swallowed slowly._

_ "I did not have the time to."_

_ "Did you enjoy it more?"_

_ He cocked his head to one side at her._

_ "It was...interesting."_

_ Rolling her eyes, she lifted the shampoo bottle from the little shelf on the shower wall and turned it over, then squeezed a stream of it into her palm. Lifting it to her head, she deposited it into her hair. In a moment, there was a hand around her wrist. _

_ "Can I help you?"_

_ "I'm interested in further study."_

_ "Of my hair?"_

_ "Is that a problem?"_

_ Irene lowered her hands._

_ "Not at all."_

_ Slowly, gingerly, he ran his hands through her hair, kneading her scalp, working the shampoo into a lather. After her hair was full of suds, he gently tilted her head back and rinsed the suds before drawing her back out from under the stream and working conditioner into her hair. As he finished, she splashed a little water on her face and turned towards him._

_ "Any observations?"_

_ "Your hair is very soft."_

_ "Anything else?"_

_ "It is pleasurable to touch."_

_ "So may I also partake in the experiment?"_

_ "You wash your own regularly so I assume you mean to attempt washing my hair."_

_ "That would be correct."_

_ "I'm a great deal taller than you."_

_ "Then sit down."_

_ "There is hardly the space for it."_

_ "I disagree. Just sit and try."_

_ "Ridiculous."_

_ "Well then what is your suggestion?"_

_ "Kneeling perhaps?"_

_ "Sounds more uncomfortable."_

_ "Would you rather I am uncomfortable or that you are unable to take part in the experiment?"_

_ Seizing his shoulders, Irene pulled Sherlock down until he was sitting on the floor. Standing over him, Irene worked shampoo into his hair before rinsing it out and stepping back to allow him to stand._

_ "That wasn't so bad, was it?"_

_ "Hardly bad."_

_ "See?"_

_ Sherlock Holmes had an aura around him that screamed to most that he was not to be touched. So when her hands began to work shampoo through his hair, he felt his body go into overdrive, processing every scrap of data—pressure, heat, the way her fingernails lightly scratched across his scalp. Glancing down at him, Irene smiled._

_ "Excited, Sherlock?"_

_ "I don't see why any appendage receiving blood flow is of interest to you."_

_ "I'll take that as a line you're not willing to cross, then."_

_ Washing his hair with dexterous ease, she then wet washcloth and worked a bar of soap over it. It was this cloth that she rubbed over his back, his neck, his shoulders, scrubbing off days of sweat and dirt. It was this cloth that she scrubbed the backs of his legs with, his upper thighs, the angle of his hip, giving his ass a gentle swipe with the cloth before noticing that he had accepted it. Taking the reins, she scrubbed his ass, then had his turn, washing his chest, his arms and the fronts of his legs, his neck. When she was finished, she handed him the cloth. _

_ "I assumed you'd prefer to wash your groin yourself."_

_ He half-nodded, dipping his chin at her, his face strained as he glanced down at her, the faintest trace of pink spreading over his cheekbones and chest. _

_ "Had enough?"_

_ Sherlock's face tightened._

_ "Hardly. If you'll turn I can return the favor."_

_ His hands were gentle, caressing her skin with the soapy cloth and then stepping away, being a perfect gentleman and avoiding her butt, breasts, and groin. Once he finished, she rinsed off and stepped out of the shower, drying off and walking out of the bathroom._

_ Only once he was certain he was alone did Sherlock slide his hand between his legs and relieve the tension that Irene's presence had left him with. It was not something he did often; only when his body would not cease demanding it or when it drowned out all other thoughts in his head. Now was one of those times. _

_ When he left the bathroom, he found her fully clothed and sitting in a chair, reading. She indicated a pile of clothes._

_ "I hope everything fits."_

_ "I have no doubt it will."_

Once back at the house, Toby made his way to the playroom and began building a tower out of a set of wooden blocks. Irene followed and sat watching him. Sherlock was about to follow when his phone rang.

"John? Yes, he's fine. No, nothing serious. Just Mycroft being an ass."

Lily shot him a look, mouthing, 'Not in front of Toby' at him, but he ignored it.

"A what? Tell me."

He nodded for a minute or so.

"No that sounds brilliant. Meet me there."

He slipped the phone back into his pocket.

"John has a case."

The way his face lit up with intelligence and excitement transformed his features from the exhausted and irritated man that had left Mycroft's office. He pulled his coat on and walked determinedly to the door, then paused. Turning, he strode through the house and into the playroom. Lily followed in time to see him kneel down and tell Toby that he would be back the next day and to walk over to the half-asleep Irene on the couch and gently press a kiss to her forehead. When he walked out, Lily pretended not to notice the way Irene's face relaxed into a genuine smile and her eyes fluttered shut.

"Come on Toby," she whispered. "Your Mummy needs to sleep. Let's go into the sitting room and I'll read you a story."


	11. Weighing Options

Weighing Options

Sherlock did indeed return the next day, though it was around seven at night and he was practically buzzing with excitement. His coat was haphazardly thrown onto the coat tree and he nearly ran over Pan, who eagerly followed him around, hoping for a pat on the had or a scratch behind the ears. Irene was curled up in an armchair cradling a glass of wine and reading something bound in leather. A blanket was spread over her legs and he rushed up, pressing a kiss to her surprised mouth.

"Sherlock?"

"I've got it!" He declared before rushing up the stairs, leaving Irene shocked in her chair. He hadn't shown the faintest hint of romantic or sexual attraction physically since Toby's conception and now this? Taking a few deep slow breaths and then finishing off her wine, she leaned back against the chair and set down the Agatha Christie story she was reading on the side table next to her empty glass. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she sighed and rested her forehead on her blanketed knees. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stifle her affection for him, and this unexpected sign of returned sentiment was only going to make it worse.

Lily heard his thunderous feet on the stairs and sighed as Toby sat up and blinked at her. It was a moment later that Sherlock burst into the room, lifted Toby from bed, and spun him around.

"You are brilliant," he told his son. "You reminded me of that last piece you brilliant boy. Daddy's solved the case!"

Handing his son back to Lily, he dashed out and back down the stairs. She could hear the front door slam shut as he called something to Irene about checking a few things under the microscope in his flat just to be sure.

Toby, now wide awake and curious, pointed at the door.

"Daddy's gone back to his house. We'll ring him in the morning all right?"

Toby pouted and looked up at her.

"I know darling. How about I tell you one more story and then we try for sleep again?"

Toby stuck his thumb in his mouth and nodded. Taking a breath, Lily set him back in his bed and tucked the blanket around him before sitting beside him and beginning her story.

"Once upon a time, there was a little prince. He lived on a very large planet but he was always surrounded by a hundred thousand people who didn't speak the same language as he did. So the little prince did something very brave and tried to understand the other people..."

Lily brought the bottle of wine and a second glass into the sitting room where Irene was curled up in the chair still, forehead on her knees. She poured herself a small amount into the bottom of the glass and then filled Irene's about halfway.

"I know it's not my place, but what did he do down here to make you drain that glass so quickly?"

Irene's head raised up and her eyes flashed at Lily.

"You're right. It's not your place."

Lily held up her hands, one with a wineglass, one with a bottle, in surrender.

"I thought you might want to talk to someone."

"I could use Kate right now," Irene muttered, picking up the glass and sipping from it.

"Kate?"

"She used to work for me. Before Toby. Before Sherlock even."

Irene's gaze became wistful.

"I had no idea that all of this would happen. I was one of the least naive people I knew and I still never thought something like this would happen. I planned on working the way I was until I decided to go elsewhere. I liked having my fingers in all the pies and knowing how to play any key on the grand piano. God, I wish Kate was here."

"Why not phone her?"

Irene's gaze hardened.

"She's dead."

Lily licked her lips and nodded.

"I'll be in my room then. I assume you're staying the night?"

Irene nodded absentmindedly as Lily disappeared into the kitchen.

After leaving Irene and looking in on Toby, Lily climbed the stairs to the top floor of the house. Half of it was an open rooftop surrounded by a waist-high wall and green things sprouted from pots of many shapes and sizes. Roses grew on a trellis near the door, herbs along one wall and an enormous archway-style trellis created a short tunnel under which there was a bench and even more plants. Lily had spent nearly a year at the house with Toby and on her days off, her free time, the hours in the evening after Toby was asleep or the occasional early morning, she had created her own sanctuary on the roof of green things, flowers in pots and on trellises, in makeshift containers, in anything that would hold earth and allow things to grow. It was autumn and it seemed the last warm day had been the one when Toby fell ill and had to be taken to the hospital. It wasn't raining, but the breeze hinted of one soon to come as Lily wondered when the first frost would come and erase her autumn blossoms. The chrysanthemums and Michaelmas daisies were bright and colorful against the gray sky; a few salvias and calla lilies near the arching trellis seemed to be reaching upwards, hoping to live a few weeks longer.

It was only after a little while out with her flowers and the occasional trace of soft moonlight from a break in the cloud cover, that Lily went back inside, carefully bolted the door, and retreated to her room. Down the hall she could hear Irene's shower water and Pan's nails clicking down the hall towards her room. Patting his head, she lifted him onto the bed and switched off the light, laying down and closing her eyes.

_The news announced that both doctors had been found and Sherlock sat on the bed, face in his hands, silent and unmoving._

_ "Sherlock?"_

_ "Not now Ms. Adler."_

_ So they were back to surnames. Fantastic. She sat beside him and waited. It was a long wait, but part of her job had been timing and she could sit and wait as long as it took._

_ It ended up taking two hours before his head rose from his hands and when it did, he was looking at her._

_ "I have reorganized."_

_ "Reorganized what?"_

_ "My mind. John is alive. You are...different. I am also different. These sorts of things need to be cataloged."_

_ It was times like these that she just wanted to pin him down and snog him senseless until the logic fell away and she found the part of him that had kissed her in the shower and had leaned against her warmth all night long, the part of him who had let go and kissed her with passion and feeling that many would claim was impossible for the stony Sherlock Holmes._

_ "Why do they need to be cataloged?"_

_ He looked at her like she was an idiot._

_ "Organized minds are important. Maximum data storage and ease of access are key."_

_ Sighing, she nodded._

_ "So what are you going to do now?"_

_ He glanced at her._

_ "There are a few members of Moriarty's network that I need to take care of before I can return home."_

_ "So you're going to do that how?"_

_ Swallowing, he forced himself to meet her gaze._

_ "With your help, Ms. Adler. If you permit it."_

_ Her grin was wicked and she rested a gentle hand on his thigh._

_ "Tell me what the plan is and I'll tell you if I permit it or not."_

_ "We'll be starting in Moscow."_

_ Standing, she walked to the wardrobe, and Sherlock began to smile despite himself._

_ "Shall I take that as an acceptance?"_

_ She flashed him a smile over her shoulder._

_ "I can hardly let you storm Moscow alone. I happen to know a few people of import."_

_ Within four hours they were on a plane under false names and disguised carefully. She was a dusty brunette hidden in a bag-like dress and nurse's shoes, her face hidden by plastic spectacles and he a pale blonde with tweed trousers and fraying braces. They spoke soft, Yorkshire-accented English to each other about dull topics such as the weather and the health of various elderly relatives. _

_ The first night in Russia, they shared the last room in a tourist-trap hotel and woke up to silently check out and lose themselves in the crowds, bags abandoned and disguises altered slightly. Their second night they spent disguised as a rich woman and her lover, their hair colored differently and his manner changed to one of an eager-to-please young man. When the tracked down Moriarty's contact, Sherlock arranged for him to disappear and the same evening he vanished, the pair found themselves in bed together, kissing passionately as Irene's hands curled tightly in his hair and his clutched at her back._

_ In the morning, they did not speak of it. And when the same thing occurred upon the capture and elimination of the next member of the web, they again did not speak of it. The time after that, Irene rolled over the next morning and remarked,_

_ "Whenever you're ready, we can go further."_

_ Sherlock swallowed and nodded._

_ "I'll make a note of it," he said hoarsely._

_ As time passed, the snog sessions became more frequent and with them came a strange truce. The pair of them still tried to one-up each other, outsmart each other, keep each other on their toes. However, when Sherlock was double-crossed by an informant and ended up with a mild concussion and a graze wound from a bullet, he allowed Irene to see his weakness and to help him. When she broke her wrist diving for a gun, he sat with her to get it set and helped her wash her hair until the hairline fracture had healed. By the time the last member of the web was being located, Sherlock felt a strange anticipation. _

_ "Where is she then?" Irene asked, looking at the computer screen over his shoulder. "We've been to nearly every continent now."_

_ "Canada."_

_ "Canada?"_

_ "Manitoba to be specific."_

_ "That's an entire province."_

_ "I'm narrowing it down."_

_ "And she's the last?"_

_ Sherlock nodded._

_ "The web will be unraveled. I can return to London and you...it's still not safe for you there."_

_ Frowning a little, she shook her head at him._

_ "No, I suppose it's not."_

_ "We could construct a new identity for you."_

_ "You already have. The moment I came to speak to you in London, your brother would know. I'd be found out."_

_ She wanted there to be a way. She wanted so desperately to be able to follow him, to attempt to build upon the shaky footing that they had stood upon these months, between hotel rooms and airplanes and ships, between shared beds, the occasional shared shower, the helping hand and the eyes that covered each other' backs in times of danger. She wanted to let him open up, to watch his guard lower over time, more than it already had. She wanted to lower her own protections and to trust him enough to know he wouldn't tear her to pieces all over again. She wanted it more than anything. However, she knew better. She knew Mycroft Holmes's protectiveness over his brother and she knew Sherlock's tendency to shy away from anything that could be considered sentiment. She knew that no matter how much she wanted it, it could not be. _

_ "When is our flight?"_

_ He glanced at the computer screen, then Irene, sitting on the bed, hair wet from her shower, clad in a long jumper and her knickers. She yawned at him._

_ "I was planning on flying out on the afternoon flight so you could catch up on sleep."_

_ She smirked, amused, as she pulled the blankets over herself._

_ "And what, you'll stay up all night?"_

_ "It's not as though I'm unaccustomed to it."_

_ "I want my genius well-rested if we're taking down the final piece in the puzzle. If she knows that the other members of Moriarty's network are gone, she'll be more defensive and difficult to take down."_

_ He nodded slowly, accepting her logic._

_ "I'm sure your presumption has nothing at all to do with the fact that you're accustomed to a bit of intimacy before bed?"_

_ Sultry, she raised an eyebrow._

_ "Why don't you come over here and determine that for yourself?"_

_ Giving the laptop screen a last glance, he shut it and unbuttoned his shirt, climbing into the bed beside her. He was only halfway done with the buttons when she pulled him down to her level. Accustomed to what Irene liked, he met her lips as she pulled him to her. He was still a beginner in the fine art of snogging, but he was a fairly quick study. He could feel her fingers undoing the final buttons of his shirt. Perhaps they could go further. Perhaps when it was all over and he wouldn't have to worry about the change in dynamics which would undoubtedly occur if he succumbed to his desire to let her teach him the delicate dance that was sex. Perhaps._

Lily heard Toby faintly down the hall at some absurd hour of the morning, but after waiting to see if he would go back to sleep, she found that he was once again quiet and she allowed her eyes to close. She got up late morning, shocked that Toby had allowed her to sleep this late. It was only after she found his crib empty that she began to worry.

"Irene's here, she probably took him out in the garden," she muttered to herself. But when she and Pan went downstairs, they found Sherlock sitting next to his son on the couch, speaking more slowly than usual as he explained the case he was working on. Lily smiled as she made her way to the kitchen where Irene sat in the breakfast nook sipping tea, her hair messily pulled back into a loose bun and wearing a robe. In front of her was a newspaper.

"Sleep well?" Lily asked as she began fixing herself tea.

Irene nodded absentmindedly and turned the page.

"Anything interesting?"

"There's been a robbery and I'm trying to work out how they got away with it. Sherlock's going to give me the clues he gathered after breakfast; I want to see if I can solve it."

"At this rate, Toby will be a detective before he decides to speak regularly."

"And there is nothing wrong with that."

"As long as he gets to be a child."

Irene looked at her sharply.

"We would never neglect to give Toby a childhood."

"I didn't mean—sorry. I'm not quite awake yet."

Irene nodded in response and went back to her paper. Whistling for Pan, Lily put her spoon on the sideboard, grabbed a pear from the basket of fruit on the table and went out into the garden to finish breakfast before realizing that it was beginning to drizzle and asking whether or not Irene and Sherlock were planning on staying with Toby for awhile. Once Irene affirmed that she would stay even if Sherlock got called away, Lily dressed herself, collected Pan's leash and pulled on a jacket and wellies.

Popping in to plant a kiss on Toby's head before she headed out, Lily smiled at Sherlock and her charge.

"Be back in an hour or so, all right?"

Sherlock nodded and returned to telling Toby of his case as Lily slipped out the door.

_Iris's Gardening_ was the only small business gardening shop Lily knew but she loved it. Iris, a sweet older woman who was built very much like how Lily imagined a gnome, knew Lily by now because she stopped in at least once a week and whenever she brought Toby in his pram, Iris would dote on him. Other than Iris, there were three employees—George, the handyman who drove the truck, did repairs, and carried boxes, Iris's daughter Anne who helped with running the cash register and doing the paperwork, and Randy, whose job consisted of sweeping up, restocking smaller items, and running the cash register when Anne wasn't there. All of them were pleasant and usually had a moment or two to chat.

Lily and Iris chatted for a bit and exchanged news about their respective autumn blooms. Lily bought some compost to put over her plants and a packet of lemon balm seeds for the kitchen window herb garden he was cobbling together. As usual, Randy rang up her items and sent her on her way with a token from Iris, this time a little packet of herbs that made a tea Iris swore cured every headache she'd ever had. She was accustomed to receiving a packet of herbs or a few seeds from a dead plant or a clipped recipe that Iris thought she might like.

After Iris's, Lily petered around for a bit, stopping into a few shops, buying a pasty from the store, sharing it with Pan as they watched the pigeons flutter about looking for scraps. It wasn't often that she got much time off from Toby, and though she did love him, the peacefulness of a walk in the rain with her dog and her thoughts for company was a blessing. Only when Pan began to look waterlogged did the pair of them return to the house where Toby and his parents sat in the sitting room, Toby on his mother's lap as she tried to solve the case Sherlock had already solved. Three pairs of eyes sparkled and Lily slipped past them and up the stairs to dry off Pan and take a quick shower.


	12. Catalysts

Catalysts

**Skipping forward again in time. If you all could give some reviews to help me determine what you like and what I could do better with, that would be awesome. Flashback is T.**

For Toby's second birthday he received a plastic magnifying glass, a set of boxes in various colors that stacked and fit inside one another, a tricycle, a butterfly net, and an abacus with brightly colored beads. Lily found a miniature version of his father's coat for him and he wore it around, carrying the magnifying glass with him. Irene laughed when she tried to take a photo of the two of them and they both gave her matching grouchy faces at being photographed.

He still didn't talk, but Lily used baby sign language, a basic version of sign language, to communicate with him. Additionally, Irene had insisted that she speak French to him when they were at home so he would become accustomed to it. He understood both languages fairly well as far as anyone could tell, he just spoke neither.

Sherlock was called away on a case when Irene heard a knock on the door and nodded to Lily to answer it as she began mopping frosting off of the toddler's face. Laughing as Toby squirmed under the damp cloth his mother held, Lily made a face at him and walked to the door, wiping sticky fingers on a bright orange apron. She was still smiling when she opened the door and came face to face with Mycroft Holmes. Smile fading, she whistled for Pan, who trotted over and sniffed at Mycroft's shoes.

"I don't recall Toby's parents saying that you were coming over."

"I can't bring my nephew a birthday present?"

Frowning, Lily stepped back.

"If you don't mind waiting in the hall, I'll go ask Irene."

"Of course."

Once he was in the hall, Mycroft smiled charmingly at her, a brightly wrapped box under one arm. Pan begged at his feet to no avail as Mycroft ignored him.

"I'll be right back."

She met Irene in the kitchen and after explaining softly in French, which Toby was slightly less fluent in, especially if she used more complex vocabulary, Irene's face tightened. Toby glanced from his mother to his nanny and signed _No happy_ to Lily with a questioning look.

"Mummy just has some work to do for a moment. Then we'll go to the park and try out your tricycle. How does that sound?"

He nodded as Irene exchanged a look with Lily and vanished into the hall.

Out of hearing range of her son, Irene strode into the hall and met Mycroft's gaze with her one steely one.

"You had better have a good reason for being here."

"More than one, yes. One is, as I told your help,is to give Toby a birthday present. The other is to ask about some information that I have heard recently."

"Which would be?"

"A conspiracy headed up by you."

Irene chuckled darkly, "I'd be eager to hear this. Considering you don't respect the visitation wishes of Sherlock and I, why wouldn't you insult me in my own home?"

She said it in a smoothly charming voice and if he had been listening to her tone alone, he would have thought she was inviting him to tea or offering him something.

"Now Ms. Adler, I would appreciate it if you didn't become hostile."

"Why don't you explain what you're accusing me of and then we'll decide if I can become hostile?" Her tone was still soft and pleasant, unlikely to carry, but her face was a cold mask.

"I was informed that my nephew's conception was less than accidental."

Irene laughed.

"Right, I as a former figure of import wanted to conceive a child with the man who took me down."

"You were employed as a sex worker, Ms. Adler. Am I to believe that you were using no contraceptives?"

"I would appreciate if you did not presume the details of my former profession Mr. Holmes, and as a person with a large knowledge of sex, I can assure you that though it is incredibly rare, conceptions can occur when contraceptives are in use. I am relieved that Toby has suffered no ill effects from my use of them prior to my realization of his existence."

"You expect me to believe that a one-in-several-million error occurred in the use of contraceptives by an experienced sex worker that just happened to result in a child with not only one of Britain's most brilliant, but also happens to be the nephew of a prominent figure in the British government? And if Tobias still isn't talking at his age, perhaps your supposed lack of knowledge of his existence and continued presence of contraceptives during his prenatal stages were more damaging than you would like to admit."

When Irene spoke again, it was in a cold hissing whisper.

"Get out."

"I'll be keeping an eye on you Ms. Adler. I'm still not convinced that you're simply the sufferer of an error and the innocent mother of my nephew."

"Out."

Mycroft Holmes tipped his hat, setting Toby's gift down next to the coat tree in the hall, and strolled out the door. She was white and shaking when Lily came into the hall, Toby on her hip. Toby looked from his mother to Lily and back again.

_Mommy no happy?_ He signed.

"Mummy's fine dear," Irene assured him, forcing a smile. "Work just made her very tired. I'm going to go have a lie down for a bit and then I'll come meet you and Lily at the park, okay?"

He nodded and struggled to get down when the brightly colored box caught his eye. Bounding over, he tore off the paper and found a fluffy plush bear inside. Hugging it, he smiled up at Lily and bounded off to put it with his other gifts. When he came back he was pushing the trike from behind and looked expectantly up at his nanny.

"Well hop on and we'll be on our way."

With an awkward clamber that reminded Irene acutely of Sherlock, he climbed onto the tricycle and Lily slowly helped his little feet onto the pedals before gently beginning to push him from behind, setting the wheels rolling. Before she closed the door, she showed Irene her phone before pocketing it, just so she knew that Lily was only a phone call away. Irene nodded as the door closed.

Sherlock found her in the sitting room when he returned, ecstatic with his latest case. He paused in the middle of his excited ramble as he noted several things at once.

_Pale, hands trembling, hunched shoulders-defensive, slightly smeared eye makeup suggesting tears-no tracks on the face so tears wiped away. Clenched jaw, avoiding eye contact, thumb running over back of hand-self comforting gesture. Something has occurred to upset Irene._

"Something's wrong."

It was blunt but when Irene met his gaze, she looked white and hurt. She didn't say anything and he tossed his coat on the chair, unwound his scarf and tossed it after, sat down.

"What is wrong?"

Irene bit her lip before whispering,

"Mycroft stopped by. He had some...inquiries for me."

"What sort of inquiries? He's not supposed to be here this week, he knows that. He's always trying to spoil things, trying to ruin things that I have."

Irene sniffed and Sherlock's attention re-locked on her.

"What did he say to you? Are you all right?"

"He accused me of conceiving Toby to manipulate you and him. And of somehow deliberately damaging Toby's development so he wouldn't talk when it was normal to."

Though she had sworn that she would be impartial when telling Sherlock the news, despite how much it had upset her, it seemed she had broken her own word because she buried her face in her hands and took raggedy breaths, trying to calm herself. Sherlock, hardly thinking about it, pulled her close to him, running a hand over her back as he did for Toby when the little boy was upset.

"I admit that the thought occurred that you had not conceived accidentally when you first told me."

"And?"

"I determined that even on your best try, you couldn't successfully be sure that you would conceive and beside that, that you would not be certain that I would even accept the child let alone wish for you to keep it. It seemed illogical, even if there was sentiment involved."

Irene struggled to get out of his arms and she glared at him, eyes red and teary, mascara beginning to run.

"And what he said about Toby's speech?"

Sherlock seized her shoulders and looked her in the eye, serious and deliberate.

"Despite what I previously believed about you before all this and any quarrels we may have, I know that you would never willingly harm our son. I am certain that any developmental delays on Toby's part are of his own choice not to speak or some coincidence unrelated to anything that you could have knowingly done."

Irene nodded, swiping tears away.

"Silly of me, crying like this."

"It is not uncommon to shed tears when one is angry or frightened."

"He can't take Toby from us, can he?"

Sherlock set his jaw and pulled Irene in closer to him.

"Regardless of what he thinks he can do, he will never be able to take you or Toby away from me. He will have to go through me to get to you and destroying his own brother is one act that my brother is incapable of."

He tightened his grip on Irene and pulled the clip from her hair, letting the waves flow down her back as he stroked them slowly.

"Though I was initially unsure, I am very glad that we have a son. Despite the circumstances of his conception and birth, I believe that his existence has assisted me greatly and that he will be an asset to this planet as he grows older."

Irene looked up at him.

"You have the oddest way of saying you love him."

"I have been told that I lack people skills."

Irene wrapped one hand around his neck and ran her fingers through the curls at the base of his skull.

"I'm willing to assist you in bettering yourself."

Recognizing the look in her eyes, the sentiment he constantly denied swelling in his chest, Sherlock Holmes lowered his lips to hers. It had been over two years since they had truly kissed and the feeling in his stomach, his chest, racing through his veins, all seemed to be stronger than the very first time they had done this. Letting himself relax into the taste, the feel of her, Sherlock held her close and slowly, luxuriously, they kissed in the sitting room on the squashy couch, their son out to play and the house entirely theirs.

_The plane landed in Manitoba around three in the afternoon, spitting out two ragged travelers, apparently a couple, but not a wealthy one based on their worn luggage and shoes. The man's mousy, close-cropped hair was mashed on one side from sleeping against the airplane window and his wife/girlfriend/fiance had her chocolaty brown hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. They spoke cheerful American-accented English to each other, hands entwined as they spoke a little too loudly about the oddities of Europe. Snatches of conversation about the expense, the strange smells, the odd culture, the fact that language classes seemed to be entirely useless could be heard by anyone caring enough to listen, but the fact was, another American tourist couple was nothing new or even interesting. _

_ "This accent is irritating me," Sherlock muttered in her hear, forcing a smile so it appeared he was just whispering something. _

_ "I'm sure you can manage it a bit longer. I've booked a hotel room. We can check in in two hours."_

_ "And until then?"_

_ "Internet cafe perhaps."_

_ "For what purpose?"_

_ "Mostly coffee."_

_ "Internet cafes will be monitored. We need something quieter, less constantly on camera."_

_ "A walk perhaps?"_

_ "Shopping centers are out of the question and we'll be conspicuous with our luggage."_

_ Irene sighed and looked up at him._

_ "Are you grumpy from the plane or are you just being difficult."_

_ "I have no idea what you are referring to."_

_ Taking his bag and sliding it over her shoulder, she pulled out a heavier jacket, handed it to him, and walked over to the little cul-de-sac of hotel counters, each advertising a shuttle service and complimentary items of some sort. When she returned, she was carrying only a purse and her heavy jacket._

_ "I had the luggage sent ahead to the hotel."_

_ "What if it doesn't make it there?"_

_ "There is nothing of value in our luggage and nothing that can identify us. That's all in your mind castle" she explained, looking an arm through his and smiling cheerily up at him, looking very much the affectionate companion. _

_ Catching on, he smiled back down at her._

_ "It's a palace."_

_ "Of course it is dear. Why don't we go find something to eat?"_

_ "I'm not hungry."_

_ They both knew he said it more out of habit than anything else and she stood on her toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek, still playing the affectionate American couple._

_ "I don't really care if you're hungry. I'm famished."_

_ "I suppose I have no choice then?"_

_ "No."_

_ After a quick lunch and a slow meander through a more historic and less-monitored portion of the city, they returned to their hotel. As the afternoon went on, Sherlock had noticed her tensing subtly more and more as the afternoon went on. It was not something he would have noticed before; he knew her better now, her habits and mannerisms. He knew that she liked to be bitten, but only gently and she had a very specific way of drying her hair. He knew that she was terrible at sharing covers and would sleep like the dead if she was curled up next to him; he knew that she expressed her emotions by how she held herself, intricacies of posture and the motions she went through to pick things up or brush a stray hair out of her face. _

_ Once in the hotel, he watched her set her suitcase down and begin to unpack, hanging up dresses and stacking neatly folded clothes into the bottom two dresser drawers. Silently he debated asking her what was wrong, but was unsure if she would even answer as she didn't always respond well to his bluntness, especially if she didn't want to say something. Eventually, his nature got the better of him._

_ "What's wrong?"_

_ She looked at him quickly and then away again, the barest flicker of a gaze, but in that flicker he knew that she knew something important. He knew that she wasn't telling him something and he honed in on that point, razor sharp and ready to cut open and examine whatever evidence that she had for him. _

_ "She...Marietta was the name we knew her by...wasn't just a part of the web."_

_ Eyes narrowing, Sherlock focused on her._

_ "Explain."_

_ "She was many things, one of which was Moriarty's mistress."_

_ "I thought you-"_

_ She looked stung._

_ "No. He likes to dole out pain and I don't work in those positions"_

_ "So this woman...this...Marietta...she..."_

_ "Had sex with Moriarty. Yes. Her pain tolerance is extraordinary. She was in charge of making intimidating people disappear. She was his hunting dog. After he shot them out of the sky, she went in to kill the already-wounded enemy. And she enjoyed it."_

_ "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"_

_ "She'll know me."_

_ "Which is why this information is vital! How could you be so stupid?"_

_ "You would have left on your own, angry and not necessarily in the clearest mind. She would have killed you."_

_ He scoffed._

_ "You said she went in for the kill after they were wounded."_

_ "I think she might make an exception for the man that killed her lover. She might kill you so you wouldn't see it coming. Maybe she would slowly torture you until you died. You would have no one to watch your back."_

_ "Is that your job now? To watch my back?"_

_ "I'd rather do that than watch you get killed."_

_ "You're getting sentimental."_

_ "You're getting suicidal."_

_ "Only one of those will get us both killed."_

_ "If you become suicidal, we'll both get killed."_

_ "How do you determine that?"_

_ "Because, you stupid man, I'll be there trying to save you!"_

_ "I didn't ask you to save me!"_

_ "I didn't need you to ask!"_

_ Irene glared at him as he stormed past her and out of the door. She heard the door slam and she stomped to the shower and turned on, letting steam fill the room as she stepped under the stream of water and washing the grime of travel and the ache of the argument off of her skin. She ordered room service and ate simply before lying down, jet-lagged and bone-tired. Her eyes were closed and she was just beginning to drift off into a state of semi-consciousness when the door opened quietly and shut._

_ Hoarsely, she heard Sherlock whisper her name._

_ "Irene?"_

_ Her eyelids fluttered as she forced them open, watching him stumble across the room, tripping over her suitcase and shrugging out of his coat, kicking off his shoes._

_ "Sherlock?" _

_ She forced her exhausted body into a sitting position._

_ "Sherlock, what's wrong? Are you..." she caught a whiff of alcohol. "Are you drunk?"_

_ He stumbled into bed next to her and clumsily ran a hand over her cheekbone, tracing her jawline, the curve of her neck, her collarbone._

_ "Irene," he murmured in a low growl and he pressed a kiss to her clavicle, trailed them up her collarbone, the side of her neck, her earlobe. When his lips got to her earlobe, he gently tested it with his teeth, attempting to determine what she liked. His hand, warm and strangely steady on her wrist, turned it over and she felt him tapping at the pulse point on her wrist as he drew his mouth down to her neck and began to suck ever-so-gently. It was difficult to keep a clear head, but she felt the tapping at her wrist and her brain kicked in. As he moved from her neck to her lips, she understood all too clearly what was being tapped into her wrist in Morse code._

Trouble. Being watched. Convince them we're harmless.

_The way he had said her name, the stumbling. He had been using an American accent. He was pretending to be drunk. Slipping her fingers onto his pulse point, she tapped back._

Let me lead.

_ She felt his chuckle against her rib cage and he tapped back the last message of the evening._

Naturally.

_ He was complacent as she removed his shirt, peeled off her own, guided his hands to her breasts and allowed him to explore them. The funny thing was, she could feel the different between his acting and his genuine curiosity. The drunk he was pretending to be was groping roughly at her left breast and the scientist gently stroked her right one, circling the nipple with his fingertip, cupping the mass of the breast in his palm and kneading cautiously. She drummed Morse code into his hipbone._

Tap hip to stop. I'll convince. Play along.

_ She slowly divested him of all of his clothes except his boxers, gently kissed along his sternum and lower, all the way to his navel. He groped as best he could, removing her overlarge shirt that was passing as a nightgown. His fingers rested on her hipbone, ready to signal her to stop, but when she shifted her weight downward, he let out a heavy puff of air, surprised. She nuzzled at his groin, licked and nipped along the waistband of his boxers before trailing kisses back up his chest. He wasn't sure how, but suddenly she was straddling him and began shifting her hips back and forth, sitting on his stomach above his groin, though anyone watching wouldn't know that. Grabbing the hand he had rested at her hip, she tapped a final Morse message into his wrist._

Play along.

_ He had memorized Morse code for fun as a child and knew it was rarely used in full and complex sentences, but the fact that she could understand the ones he sent and return her own was refreshing, entertaining. Not nearly as entertaining as the fact that she was grinding her pelvis into his stomach, but still enlightening. And as she murmured, 'do you like that?' he remembered to play along. Hesitantly shifting his hips up and down slightly underneath her, he felt her slip back to over his groin and then back onto his stomach. At the rush of friction, he couldn't help it. He moaned, his hands gripping her hips, shifting up to knead at her breasts. Breathing in shudders, he let her lead their pretend sex until she slipped her knee between his legs and slid it roughly along his groin. Arching his back as a rush of pleasure surged through him at the contact, he gave a breathless sigh before she collapsed onto him, nuzzling his neck and moving her lips up so she was barely whispering into his ear._

_ "Thanks for playing along. If it's safe to stay here tonight, roll over and go to sleep." _

_ After making a few satisfied grunts and settling himself into the mattress, Sherlock rolled over. This time, right before Irene drifted off to sleep, she felt his nimble fingers trace a singular phrase across her belly._

_ "Tomorrow we run."_

When Toby and Lily returned from the park, they found Sherlock and Irene sitting at the kitchen table, each with a glass of wine. Irene's cheeks were rosier and Toby came rushing in, signing as fast as his little fingers went.

_Fast! Fast! I go fast!_

"You're my little speed demon, aren't you?" Irene asked and Sherlock chuckled.

"Being quick runs in the family, Tobias. I used to trounce your uncle Mycroft at races when we were children."

_Brother? _Toby signed.

"You know that your uncle is my brother, Toby."

_My brother? _Toby signed.

"What are you getting at, little man?" Sherlock asked, sliding off his chair and onto the floor where Toby was peering up at him intently.

_Brother for me? _Toby signed and Sherlock glanced at Irene.

"I'm not sure, Toby. But it's your birthday so why don't we go play with one of your new toys?"

Irene grinned wickedly as father and son toddled to the playroom.

"He handled that well, don't you think?" Irene chuckled.

"I'm not getting involved in this one."

With that, Lily began to climb the stairs to her rooftop garden.


	13. Secondary Results

Secondary Results

When Sherlock closed a second case later in the month, Toby walked in as his parents kissed slowly in the kitchen, arms wrapped around each other. When Lily walked in after him, she cleared her throat softly to alert them to her and Toby's presence before scooping him up and carrying him into the playroom where he began signing rapid-fire questions at her about what his parents were doing and why. In soft French, she explained that his parents were kissing and that it was something that two people did when they liked each other very much. She then had to re-explain when Toby wanted to know why the kisses he got were on his head or his cheek, that there were special kisses for people that you liked in different ways, much like how Lily never kissed his mother but would often press a kiss to his cheek. She was struggling to explain why his parents were doing it just then, when she heard a soft chuckle and looked back to see Irene leaning against the door.

"If you would explain this, it would be a lot easier."

Irene smiled.

"When I understand what is going on, I'll be sure to explain it to Toby."

"I've answered all his questions so far. Any more are on you because I have even less of an idea what's going on then you do."

Irene shot a bemused glance at the nanny.

"If there's anything that needs explaining to him, I'll clear it up."

"Thank you. Toby, I'm going to Iris's. Want to come along? I'll pull you in the wagon."

Toby toddled off, returning less than a minute later with his shoes, which he held up for Lily to put on for him.

"Ready to go eh? Why don't you go get Pan's leash from the front cupboard and I'll get the wagon from the garden?"

As her son rushed off, Irene looked after him.

"He's grown up so fast. It seems like hardly yesterday that we were visiting him once a week instead of coming over nearly every day. Makes me wonder what we missed."

Lily nodded, smiling.

"He's a wonderful little boy, if not a bit mischievous. I always thought that you and Sherlock would move in when you were ready since the house certainly has the space for the two of you and several more if you chose to have it that way."

Pensive, Irene walked with Lily as she made her way through the house to retrieve the wagon from the back garden.

"When Sherlock and I determine what's going on with us, we might end up living here some of the time. We're going out with John and Mary to celebrate the cast being solved. I wish we could take Toby with us...though it is a private club so perhaps...I'll speak to Sherlock about it."

Pan at his heels, Toby raced into the garden, the corgi's leash trailing behind him.

"Ready to go, are we?" Lily laughed. Glancing at Irene, she asked, "Would you like to come?"

"Thank you, no. Perhaps another time."

Slipping Toby two pound coins, she kissed her son's cheek.

"Bring Mummy back some nice flowers, all right?"

Toby stuffed the coins in the front pocket of his dungarees and beamed at his mother before climbing into the wagon, Pan hopping up after him. Though Lily clipped his leash on, the dog seemed perfectly content to ride in the wagon with his charge.

On the way to Iris's, it began to rain and as Lily stopped to pull out her umbrella and to get Toby one, someone bumped her from behind. Her handbag spilled its contents onto the sidewalk and she stumbled, scraping her hand on the wet pavement.

"Oh my God I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Are you all right? I wasn't looking."

A man wearing a faded blue cardigan and even more faded khaki trousers began helping her pick things up, looking thoroughly apologetic. His large, black umbrella lay on the sidewalk, half-opened as well. He looked even more upset and anxious at the fact that Toby was looking uncertainly from the man to Lily, his lower lip trembling.

"It's all right, Toby. Just an accident."

"I'm so sorry," the man said again, retrieving her phone from the edge of the street. The screen was scratched a bit and as he handed her her wallet, which was wet in one corner, he apologized again.

Pan growled and the man backed up.

"Looks like someone is going to hold a grudge, eh?"

"It's no problem. Pan, hush."

"He probably smells my dog," the man said. "I'm Frank, Frank Jones. Are you sure you're all right? Is there anything I can do?"

"We're just on our way to the gardening store, and we're really all right. Thank you."

Frank smiled wryly.

"After nearly running you over the least I can do is make sure you get to where you're going safely."

"Just wet out," Lily observed, picking up her umbrella and searching around in her handbag for the child-sized umbrella she usually carried for Toby. It was nowhere to be seen. Surrendering to the idea that she was going to get wet, Lily handed her umbrella to Toby.

Frank opened his umbrella and offered it to her.

"I can walk you there. It's no trouble."

"All right."

Under Frank's umbrella they walked all the way to Iris's, where he came inside and peered around. When she purchased her plant food and Iris insistingly pressed a bag of tea mixture into her hand, she had to smile.

"I'll be drinking this tonight," Lily told her. "I've already scraped myself up a bit."

After showing Iris her scraped hand, the older woman would not hear of her leaving until she had cleaned it off and given her a plaster for it, given Toby a sweet and two flowers for his mother when he offered her a pound coin, and roped poor Frank into a conversation about tulips which he was clearly out of his depth in. After perhaps forty-five minutes in the shop, Lily managed to disentangle herself from Iris, who was insisting that she needed to look at the bulbs she was ordering for the following spring by using Toby, who was growing bored, as an excuse. Frank offered to carry her bags and even though Pan growled at him, he smiled halfheartedly at the corgi.

"I'll walk you home if you like," he offered.

"No, I'm quite all right, thanks. The rain's let up."

Handing her bag of fertilizer and double-wrapped bag of tea mixture to Toby, who blinked wide-eyed up at him, he gave the little group a wave and walked off.

When Lily and Toby arrived home, they found Sherlock lounging on the sitting room couch lazily, peering at the ceiling. After running to give his mother the flowers he had picked up for her and accepted several kisses and exclamations about how lovely the flowers were, he bounded back into the sitting room and clambered onto his father's stomach, peering down at him.

"Hello Toby."

Toby blinked at him before sticking his hands in his father's pockets and pulling out anything he could find. When a small pile of change, small instruments to be used at crime scenes (such as tweezers, gloves, a torch, a magnifying lens, a handkerchief), several unopened nicotine patches, and a scrap of paper with a number hastily scrawled onto it all sat haphazardly on Sherlock's chest, he looked back up.

"Find anything interesting?"

Toby seized the lens in one hand and began peering at things through it, Chuckling, Sherlock returned his attention to the ceiling, one hand curled along Toby's hip in case he should lose his balance. The little reunion was interrupted by Irene, who entered the room in a smart-looking deep blue cocktail dress.

"Lily would you mind getting the zipper?"

Lily obliged and Irene crouched down in front of Toby.

"What do you think?"

_Mummy pretty,_ Toby signed.

"Yes, your Mummy is very pretty," Sherlock said softly, eyes traveling up and down Irene's form.

"Do you think it's appropriate for the club?"

"You might want a shawl or something," Sherlock offered, eyes never leaving her dress. "It's getting chilly, especially in the evenings."

"Excellent point."

She was out of the room again. Sherlock carefully removed Toby from his chest and set him on the floor, returning the array of objects into his pockets.

"We're going to go out to dinner tonight, but we'll be back for bedtime, all right?"

Toby nodded.

_I come? _

"Not this time, Tobias. I don't think you'd enjoy it anyhow. Just lots of boring grown-ups."

Shrugging, Toby picked up one of Pan's toys and tossed it into the hall where it bounced a few times before the corgi careened after it, wild with excitement.

A few hours later, Sherlock and Irene were at the door. Both kissed Toby on the cheek before waving and stepping out. As they dined at the club with John and Mary, Toby and Lily had fish fingers and chips and mushy peas while coloring on an enormous piece of butcher's paper spread over the kitchen table. After reading a few books, Lily brewed herself a cup of tea of Iris's special mix while turning on a video for Toby. The tea wasn't one of Iris's best, but she drank it anyway, sitting with Toby as he watched one of his favorite videos from the science channel, something on the amazing human body.

About halfway through the video she felt a little odd. The room was getting warm and she got up to go into the kitchen to get herself a class of water and crack a window. In the kitchen, the oddities grew worse. The stove swirled and swam before her, the floor churned below her feet and she could feel her heartbeat racing. Everything seemed to be moving in on her menacingly.

_Something's not right, need to call someone. _

Before her eyes her fingers split into snakes and the floor was jagged glass. She yelled out in pain when something jumped up out of the tile, clawing at her legs. She could see a man, a beast, lunging into the kitchen through the mouth of a dragon, eyes bleeding fire. She opened her mouth to scream and slipped onto the floor, the kitchen dancing wildly around her.

_Sherlock woke her by curling his arm around her waist, pulling her close, and tapping her sternum gently until she awoke. _

_ "Shower?" he mumbled into her ear. "Bring clothes."_

_ She hummed agreeably, wondering what his plan was. When he locked the door behind them and turned the heat on as well as the hot water before quickly dressing himself and tucking a few things into his pocket, it wasn't any more clear. It wasn't clear at all until he stood on the closed toilet seat and pulled open a three-by-three foot wide grate on the ceiling._

_ "Where does that lead?" Irene asked, keeping her voice low._

_ "Nowhere." He opened the window and slid himself out onto the ledge. _

_ "Sherlock, we're on the third floor."_

_ "There's a trellis up to the second and if you use the drainpipe to get to the second floor, we can make it just fine."_

_ "You might have mentioned that I needed my coat."_

_ "Too conspicuous. We'll need new clothes."_

_ "Wonderful." Irene climbed out after Sherlock, closing the window behind her. "Where did you get caught last night?"_

_ "Hotel bar."_

_ "Why were you at the bar?"_

_ "Drunks talk loud and they talk too much."_

_ "And you were stumbled upon by..."_

_ "A lackey. Nobody high up in Moriarty's organization, someone very small time. But he had a not-so-small time partner and he'd apparently been told to keep an eye out for me."_

_ "So you faked drunkenness, came upstairs and what? Hoped they wouldn't notice you climbing out the window in the morning?"_

_ Sherlock half-slid, half-climbed down the drainpipe onto a concrete platform perhaps six inches wide before inching over to the trellis and slowly making his way down. Irene followed suit, wishing that she'd known to bring gloves._

_ "They're staying across the hall."_

_ "And?"_

_ They had surveillance on the room."_

_ "Surveillance how?"_

_ "Camera over the closet that covered most of the room. Nothing in the bathroom, thankfully."_

_ "So you...performed for them?"_

_ "I would say that you did the performing and I merely assisted. You were very convincing, by the way."_

_ "I'll take that as a compliment. And when do you think that they'll notice we've left?"_

_ "I think the shower covers us for a good twenty to thirty minutes."_

_ "And after that?" _

_ Sherlock walked out to the hotel shuttle and climbed in, head down._

_ "We're not taking a taxi?"_

_ "This will carry us to the airport and from there we can move."_

_ "Move where? We don't have anything on us."_

_ "I took the liberty of procuring your false identification and wallet."_

_ "The 'where' is still a question."_

_ The driver climbed in and looked back._

_ "This all?"_

_ "As far as I know," Irene replied in American-accented English._

_ "Right then. Airport we go. Coming or going?"_

_ "Meeting friends."_

_ The driver nodded pleasantly and after fifteen minutes on snow-edged roads, they arrived at the Winnipeg International Airport where the driver wished them a good day. _

_ The next hours were a blur of motion; wandering around the airport, buying a new set of clothes in the duty-free shops as well as coats, changing in the bathroom, taking a taxi to a train station and a train to a bus station and then walking several miles to the nearest town where they hitchhiked with a young family with two squalling children to another small town where they again walked until they found a hotel situated quite close to Lake Manitoba. It took nearly the entire day and when Irene collapsed onto the hotel bed, heaving a sigh of relief, Sherlock looked inquisitively at her._

_ "Is something the matter?"_

_ "Sherlock we traveled non-stop all day in late autumn in Canada and I haven't had anything to eat since the bag of crisps on the train."_

_ "You're hungry."_

_ "Yes."_

_ "There isn't room service."_

_ "Brilliant. I don't suppose there's anything nearby? I'd settle for fast food even."_

_ "Everything here is very small and local."_

_ "So let's go eat there."_

_ "Too public."_

_ "Sherlock I refuse to starve here."_

_ "Don't you think you're being a bit over dramatic?" His words were clipped and crisp and Irene sighed._

_ "A grocery store then? Is there a grocery store? There's a microwave in here at least, we can heat something up."_

_ Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment before nodding._

_ "Yes, a few blocks away."_

_ A half-hour later, Irene was digging into some reheated frozen dinner concoction and Sherlock tentatively poking his spoon into the microwavable soup. _

_ "You're sure this is edible?"_

_ "Just eat it."_

_ "I'm not hungry."_

_ "Eat it anyway."_

_ "Why would I eat it if I'm not hungry?"_

_ "You are such a child sometimes."_

_ "You're being illogical."_

_ "But I'm eating."_

_ "Again. Illogical."_

_ It seemed to Sherlock that it was only a moment later when Irene was asleep leaning against the headboard, her empty dinner tray in her lap. After grimacing and tasting the soup (which wasn't bad at all), finishing it sullenly, and removing his coat and shoes, Sherlock removed the tray from Irene's lap, slid her sweater off of her shoulders, and helped the semiconscious woman down onto the pillows where she curled under the blankets, out like a light. There was almost no hesitation this time when he slipped under the covers and curled up next to her._

_ The hotel room was like a prison after 3 days. Sherlock's investigations had brought them the location of their target and the information that they were not the only ones with a score to settle. However, information and the ability to act were two separate things and Irene was slowly trying not to snap at Sherlock every few minutes. He sat silently brooding, he paced, he disappeared for hours in various disguises, but she could almost feel his brain ticking away, humming and processing. He nearly stepped on her twice and had taken a pin from her hair abruptly before going out the last time. The hotel did not have a gym and Irene quietly pushed the furniture aside and did yoga when Sherlock was gone, did long sets of exercises, focused on her breathing, solved newspaper crossword puzzles, anything to keep herself busy. She watched a movie marathon of some film she had never heard of and attempted to contort herself into strange positions as she watched the Canadian Discovery Channel. _

_ Sherlock walked back in when she was balanced in a tree pose, breathing measured and slow. _

_ "I've got it."_

_ Forcing herself to continue the pattern of breathing, she slowly lowered her foot, stretched this way, then that, and looked up at the detective._

_ "You've got what?"_

_ "A plan."_

_ "For catching Marietta?"_

_ "Obviously."_

_ "And?"_

_ "I'll need a few things."_

_ "For someone who can give a rapid-fire explanation of a crime scene and his deductions, you're certainly not giving me much to go on here, Sherlock."_

_ "It requires you to act as a sort of bait."_

_ "Ah. Well let's hear it then."_

_ Sherlock explained his plan in an uncharacteristically slow manner, giving her frequent glances to confirm that she was not alarmed by it. Outlined, it was fairly simple, doable, and the risk was moderate but encased within Sherlock's deductions and clarifications and plans. Irene was to seek out Marietta claiming that she had brought him Sherlock Holmes, the man who killed her lover. Marietta knew that the pair of them were seeking her out and traveling together already, and Sherlock felt that his reputation as the brilliant virgin would serve Irene well in convincing Moriarty's lover that she could string along the emotionally and sexually inexperienced detective. _

_ "You'll meet her in public places only, lots of people around to keep her from harming you. You'll be safe."_

_ "Sherlock, I worked for Moriarty. I know this woman. Safety is not my top concern; I can handle myself."_

_ "Your assistance will be distinctly difficult to use if you're incapacitated or deceased. I would appreciate at least general measures to protect your person."_

_ Irene bit back a smile and the natural reaction to throw back a teasing comment at him. He was so odd in the way that he expressed his affection._

_ "I'll do it."_

_ Sherlock's face flickered, a micro-expression of concern flashing over his features before the default mask returned. _

_ "Then we ought to get started."_

Lily heard screaming, glass breaking, sirens, the roar of monsters, an incessant ringing, the crash of ocean waves across a pebble beach. The noise was unbearable and even closing her eyes didn't block out the multitude of flashing images before her eyes.

When she woke up she didn't remember anything at all.


	14. Breakthrough

Breakthrough

When Lily woke up, she was in a hospital bed in a room empty except for John Watson, who sat reading a newspaper, his fingers gripping the page so tightly that his knuckles were white and the edges of the paper were tearing. How he was reading it by the dim gray light from the window, she had no idea, but there he sat. She coughed, clearing her throat and looking around for water. The IV in her arm itched at the port and her head ached and swam.

"John?"

Her voice was hoarse and raspy but Dr. Watson dropped the newspaper and was at her side in a moment.

"What do you remember?"

He helped her sip water and looked expectantly at her.

"Irene and Sherlock for dinner at club. You and Mary too. Stayed with Toby...there was a documentary on for him...I don't...I don't remember. What happened?"

"There was belladonna in the tea, they think. You have all the symptoms of anticholinergic poisoning."

John bit his lip and looked at her.

"Someone tried to take Toby. Sherlock thinks that this was purposeful."

"Toby? Is he all right?" She motioned for more water.

"They got home and found you on the floor in the kitchen, the dog going mad despite the fact that it looks like the man kicked him half to death, and Toby gone. Sherlock took one look at the scene and dashed off. Found Toby within a few hours, completely unharmed but scared out of his mind."

"He's all right?"

"He's fine. And they took Pan to a vet as well. Bastard cracked his ribs but Sherlock said that the little guy got a few good bites in. Bits of trouser leg that Pan tore off apparently sped up locating Toby significantly."

"Irene? Sherlock?"

"Fine. It's the most frightened I've seen Sherlock since Baskervilles though. They called me to meet you here and I didn't get the full explanation until after I'd gotten you seen and in a private, locked portion of the hospital. Met Sherlock and Irene to help with the case, though I really just hailed cabs and came with my pistol in case of trouble. The two of them...my God, it was like watching wolves hunt. You wouldn't believe it."

"Pan?"

"With the vet for a bit to make sure his ribs set properly. He's lucky they didn't puncture anything."

"Am I all right?"

"Nearly. They pumped your stomach, treated you with intravenous physostigmine, gave you some charcoal. You certainly gave everyone a fright though. When you came in, they said your heartbeat was in the 120s and you were running a high fever in addition to the hallucinations, dilated pupils, and dry skin and mouth."

Lily nodded and motioned again for the water glass, which John helped her with.

"You're going to be in here at least another day for observation. This is the first case of Belladonna poisoning this severe in quite a bit so they want to be sure you're completely all right before you head off anywhere."

She nodded again.

"Where are they?"

"Sherlock, Irene, and Toby? Probably asleep. They found you maybe around ten, recovered Toby by three or four in the morning, and it's nearly six in the morning now."

"Why are you here?"

"They needed some time with their son and Irene wanted to be sure you were all right."

When Lily yawned, he smiled.

"Go on to sleep; your body needs the rest to finish sorting itself out. Toby will want to see you when he's up again. The only way Sherlock and Irene got him to go back to the flat in the first place was to send him a picture of you sleeping here."

"They're at Sherlock's flat?"

"The house hasn't been de-crime-scened yet."

She was still nodding when she fell asleep.

Bouncing on the edge of her bed woke her up and when Lily opened her eyes, she saw Toby, looking a bit tired and jittery, bouncing on the edge of her hospital bed. Noticing that her eyes were open, he scrambled over the mountains and valleys that her legs made under the blankets and sat on her stomach, signing frantically at her.

"Yes, I'm all right. Perfectly all right," she didn't even notice that she had dropped into French in her rush to calm and reassure her charge.

"Toby, look, I'm all here. They're just looking at me a bit more, all right little one? Are you all right?"

His fingers halted and he looked hesitantly back at his parents.

"He hasn't talked about it except to ask about you and Pan," Irene explained.

Returning his attention to his nanny, Toby sat as Lily reassured him gently.

"Shhh, sweetheart it's all right. I'm fine and Pan is fine and your Mummy and Daddy came to get you just like I said they would if anything ever happened. I'm sorry that the awful man took you."

_Man umbrella. Man wagon. Man rain._

Lily thought hard, her memory still fuzzy.

"He took you in a wagon?"

_Lily Toby Pan, flowers, rain, umbrella. Sad man. Trip. _

"He was sad?"

_Share umbrella with Lily._

"Do you mean the man that ran into us on our way to Iris's?"

"That would explain how he got the key," Irene said softly.

"He took my keys?"

"It was poorly planned and poorly executed. He failed to take many variables into account. We think he was looking for a ransom."

"Not now please," Irene reminded the detective softly, glancing at their son. Sherlock flinched and nodded at Irene as Toby turned to peer curiously at them.

"We told you she was all right," Sherlock told his son.

Toby shrugged, turning back to his nanny and sitting with her for a while until his parents told him it was time to go have lunch and they could bring Lily flowers or something later. Pressing a sloppily childish kiss to his nanny's cheek, Toby half climbed and half fell off the hospital bed and rushed back to his parents.

_The wind was sharply icy on Irene's cheek and it tugged at her scarf and hair as she stepped into the open courtyard next to the coffee shop, boutique, and small shoe store. Marietta was walking through the courtyard from the parking lot ahead of her and she slipped into the coffee shop which was fairly packed with Canadians waiting patiently in the coffee line. After she herself slipped in, she tapped Marietta's shoulder._

_ "Hello Marietta."_

_ The other woman must have recognized her voice because she whipped around, hand at her hip. A few people turned to look and Marietta smiled placidly at them until they turned away._

_ "Ms. Adler."_

_ "Before you get alarmed, I come bearing gifts."_

_ "What could you possibly have to offer?"_

_ "Sherlock Holmes on a silver platter."_

_ "Trickery suits you, Ms. Adler."_

_ "I'll buy you a coffee and let me explain."_

_ Marietta looked suspicious but she nodded. _

_ Half an hour later she was sipping coffee and nodding slowly as Irene laid out her scheme: her seduction of Sherlock Holmes after her discovery that he was alive and trying to eliminate Moriarty's network (herself included). She told her how the inexperienced fumbling man came to trust her and how she had discovered that his attempts to connect with others was his weakness and had managed that weakness with her usual skill. _

_ "Why come to me?"_

_ Irene smiled, predatory and dangerous._

_ "I took offense to the fact that he killed our employer and further offense to that he tried to kill me. So I brought him to someone who would make him suffer."_

_ "And I'm just meant to believe you without thinking?"_

_ "Let me prove it to you."_

_ "Go on."_

_ "He's taking me to dinner tonight at six. Come watch us and tell me I don't have him wrapped around my finger."_

_ "Where."_

_ Irene named a restaurant and Marietta nodded before rising, offering Irene her hand._

_ "I look forward to seeing this."_

_ Chuckling, as they shook hands, Irene murmured, _

_ "And I'll enjoy you seeing it."_

_ When she returned to Sherlock after the meeting, they spent the rest of the day playing their roles, sure that they were being observed; after the sun began to lower, they dressed for dinner and went out, Sherlock pretended to be blindly entranced with Irene and she lead the game in the restaurant and winked ever so subtly at Marietta as she slipped past her table on the way to the ladies' room. Though they both knew that they were putting on a show, the facade itched at Irene even more than it did Sherlock. He knew he was only playing at his fawning adoration whereas Irene hated seeing him hobbled to something less than he was, even if he was only performing it for their target. Watching him this way was like watching a falcon hooded or forcing a professional musician to do scales over and over, limiting his or her brilliance. _

_ Back at the hotel, Irene showered alone, rinsing the discomfort from her skin. Upon exiting the bathroom, Sherlock looked up from his stare into blank space._

_ "You're upset. Why."_

_ "That was disgusting."_

_ "I thought the food was acceptable. I was surprised, but pleasantly so."_

_ "Not the food, the situation."_

_ "We were convincing, I think."_

_ "You were just," she shuddered, making a face. "I didn't enjoy it in the least."_

_ "I thought you enjoyed being in charge, Ms. Adler."_

_ He smirked as he said it and she ignored his tone._

_ "I enjoy _actually_ being in charge. It was like instructing a drunk teenager."_

_ "I was the happily complying lover, entranced by the new found sensations he's been introduced to."_

_ "You were a drooling idiot."_

_ "That was rather the point."_

_ She shuddered again._

_ "I never thought I'd say this, but I missed the arrogant brilliance."_

_ "Naturally. I do not challenge you in the role I had to play."_

_ "Challenge?"_

_ "Do use your brain Irene. Half of our working relationship is because our intelligences balance and compliment each other. Without the balance, it's just a lecture that no one understands. Congratulations; you now know how it feels to be me every day."_

_ The last sentence was tinged with heavy sarcasm which Irene's mouth twitched at, amused._

_ "I'm sorry we all bore you."_

_ "They," Sherlock corrected idly and then blanched, realizing what he had admitted._

_ "Excuse me?"_

_ It would be admitting that he had erred to correct himself so hating himself for it, he repeated his words as coolly as he could, pretending they weren't an admission, pretending that they didn't mean anything._

_ "They, Ms. Adler. _They_ all bore me."_

_ "Thank you."_

_ He dipped his head, acknowledging the thanks but not verbally responding to it, unsure of what to say. _

_ "They bore me as well, Mr. Holmes."_

_ "People are predictable little creatures, aren't they?"_

_ She chuckled._

_ "What do you plan to do with what time we have?"_

_ "It depends entirely on whether or not she's watching."_

_ "I'd assume she is."_

_ "Cameras?"_

_ "Outside the window. No sound. I took a few precautions before we departed this evening."_

_ "So we can eliminate that threat by closing the blinds?"_

_ "We could convince her of my control over you a bit more."_

_ "I hardly think that necessary."_

_ Irene shrugged before letting her towel slip off her breasts and fall to the floor, smiling at him as she lowered the blinds, pulling the room-darkening curtains shut._

_ "Apparently _you_ think it necessary."_

_ Cocking her head to one side, Irene replied in mocking mimicry of his voice,_

_ "Obviously."_

_ He scowled as she pulled on knickers and picked a shirt up from the floor, pulling it on and doing up the buttons._

_ "If she's not watching, and she can't hear how will she know?"_

_ "Imagination, Mr. Holmes, is ever so much more powerful than any of the other organs."_

_ "Imagination is not an organ."_

_ "Get onto the bed."_

_ "What for?"_

_ "Because I said so, because you can think just as easily there, because when I turn the lights off I'll be able to get back to the bed without worrying about tripping over your legs, take your pick."_

_ More to avoid argument than anything else, he climbed onto the bed and waited to feel her weight next to him._

_ "Do you intend to seduce me, Ms. Adler?"_

_ "I certainly don't intend to bore you."_

_ He did not ask what she did intend, merely waited for her to let him in on the joke._

_ When she spoke again, it was not what she expected._

_ "Impress a girl, Sherlock. Find Marietta in the restaurant. Deduce for me."_

_ She could not see him smile but she knew that he did, in his own way. _

_ "Certainly, Irene."_

_ And letting images flicker across his mind's eye, he dissected their evening together aloud. Every move, every expression. He translated what Marietta thought, what the waiter had for lunch, who the man a table over was having an affair with and why. And it was far better than any evenings he'd shared with her thus far, allowing her to contribute her own observations, to trade deductions, to challenge and counter his declarations. _

_ Half asleep after they had finished speaking, Sherlock kicked off his trousers, undid uncomfortable buttons and ties, and slept in nothing but his boxers (in Sherlock's) and remaining in the shirt she had pulled from the floor (in Irene's case). Somewhere in the twilight time in the brain right between falling asleep and truly being asleep, one of them (both thinking it was the other) reached out across the bed and their hands passed each other, fingers resting on the wrist of their companion. _

Toby did indeed bring flowers when he came back, a mixed bunch of them that he was clearly very proud of (his dandelions and last sad wilting English rose nestled between the store-bought flowers all wrapped in a yellow ribbon) and Lily of course fawned over the gift, picking out the rose to sniff, praising him for finding one despite the weather and commenting on its lovely color. After appreciating his flowers, telling a few stories, and asking him to please look after Pan and make sure he didn't get any nightmares without Lily, the small boy was escorted out by John, who had stopped by, leaving Lily alone with her employers.

She looked a bit disheartened as she took a breath and opened her mouth but Sherlock interrupted her.

"No, for God's sake you're not being sacked."

"But."

"Capable as you are with Toby, we couldn't expect you to be as observant as Irene or I would be, or as clever. You could have done better, but as far as I am concerned, you've done no worse than any other ordinary person would."

"Um...thank you?"

Irene smiled sympathetically at Lily, whom had become more accustomed to Sherlock's way of speaking over the past two years, but still (it seemed) not accustomed enough to not be startled by it.

"Don't mind him. What we need to discuss are a few procedures we'll be implementing in the house. A security access code for one, as well as replacing the glass in the doors and windows with bulletproof glass."

"Is that necessary?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not, but it is a good precaution to take."

"Anything else?"

"Security camera by the front door, allow Mycroft to dispatch a search every now and again of anyone who would mean ill towards Tobias or you." Sherlock felt the need to contribute, sneering when he came to his brother's name.

"So..."

"We'll be keeping you up to date. And I feel that you would benefit from some sort of self-defense course at the very least. And to not let others handle your food. And to perhaps invest in some basic chemical equipment to examine possible harmful contents of your foods."

"What Sherlock means to say is that you're not sacked, we'll keep you in the loop, and we hope that you'll get better soon. And we'll look after Pan if he gets out before you."

"What?" Sherlock demanded, but Irene shot him a smile that was more of a snarl and he bit his tongue, face turning slightly pink at the effort to not say anything.

"We'll be by to visit again tomorrow. If you need anything, ask John. He knows most of the staff here."

Irene lead Sherlock out the door and as soon as it swung shut, Lily heard Sherlock's crisp voice demanding to know why they were in charge of the dog. It became louder as John Watson returned to the room.

"I did warn you that they would be a handful when Toby was born."

Lily nodded and leaned back onto her pillows.

"It's certainly been an adventure."

"It's not over yet," John reminded her and she smiled sleepily as she closed her eyes for a moment.

"No, it's not."


	15. Further Complications

Further Complications

Lily got out of the hospital after a week, during which she saw a lot of Sherlock Holmes, who seemed to have taken up residence in her hospital room. After the first day, she stopped asking him questions or even remarking upon his existence except to occasionally ask him to pass her the newspaper he had finished or to ask him to please call a nurse (though after discovering that there was a rampage if she did not receive care in a timely manner because "her discomfort is making the room practically unlivable," the nurses came quickly, and though Lily apologized profusely for Sherlock's behavior, they still treated her warily). The occasional time John stopped in, he often reminded Sherlock that he had to be somewhere, whether it was to sign a paper or look after Toby while Irene ran an errand or something as innocuous as saying he thought he had heard Lestrade mention that they couldn't identify some ash/soil/perfume/sample of some kind.

When it was just John and Lily, he smiled sheepishly at her and apologized for Sherlock's treating her room as his own office. Apparently living in a four room flat with Irene Adler and a two-year-old was not enough space and he couldn't experiment because Irene got cross if there were bits of dead people in the fridge or smoking Bunsen burners or anything truly interesting was going on except playing his violin, which Toby enjoyed but nearly always tired of within ten minutes or so and demanded to be played with. John chuckled a bit at Sherlock's struggles but also mentioned that she could probably get a raise if she asked for one on the sheer fact that Sherlock wanted space badly enough to pay her to get out of the hospital early.

Once out of the hospital (on time and without a raise), Lily returned to the house, though slightly more pale and unsettled, to an overjoyed Toby and Pan, and Irene, who informed her calmly that she and Sherlock each had a room in the house in the case of any other sorts of emergencies. Sherlock actually had two rooms and a large portion of the cellar taken over, but Lily didn't mind too much because Toby seemed calmer with one or another of his parents around in addition to her and though it took another week and a half, he let Pan out of his sight during the day, though he still insisted on sleeping with the corgi curled up on his bed at night. Irene wanted to have him taken to some sort of psychologist to talk about it, which Sherlock vetoed and instead suggested that they tell Toby that he could talk to John or Mary or Lily or either of his parents or Mrs. Hudson. It was Mrs. Hudson who got him to talk in the end, offering him milk and biscuits and asking him to slow down often, as her understanding of sign was fairly basic. He poured out the whole story to her in sign, expressions of distress and anxiety stretching his plump, childish features and when he was finished, Mrs. Hudson took him to the park and the pair of them fed the squirrels and played 'spot the tourist,' which was a personal favorite game of Toby's.

It was upon his return from his visit with Mrs. Hudson, that Toby met his uncle Mycroft at the front door. Toby blinked up at him, still having a rather negative impression of his uncle based on Sherlock's attitude towards the man.

"Your father used to look at me like that when I wouldn't let him have a sweet," Mycroft Holmes remarked to his nephew as he used the hook of his umbrella to ring the bell.

"Now you be nice to your little brother," Mrs. Hudson reminded him and Mycroft nodded sharply before bidding her good day as Lily opened the door, a kerchief tied around her head and a smudge of soot on one cheekbone, highlighting the fine dusting of flour on the apron haphazardly tied around her waist.

"Did you have a good time?" Lily asked Toby, waiting for him to respond before she shooed him off to play and greeted the elder Holmes brother.

"Sherlock is here?"

It was more a statement than a question, but Lily took it as such.

"Yes, he should be in the cellar."

"Fetch him for me, would you?"

"He's in the middle of an experiment."

"Which I'm sure can wait."

A timer beeped from the kitchen and Lily gestured towards the good sitting room, where the rare guest sat and drank tea or read something while waiting for the master or mistress of the house to come greet them.

"He'll be right with you."

As Mycroft sat in the sitting room, Lily pulled a tray of scones from the oven, redirected Toby's interest in seeing what colors different leaves made squished up to a large piece of white paper.

"This way you can keep them for later and I won't accidentally tidy them up," she explained to Toby, turning the kettle and the portable baby monitor on, placing the transmitter on the kitchen table beside Toby and tucking the other into her pocket. Only once she had a cup of tea, two nicotine patches, a packet of salt, and a buttered scone, still hot from the oven, did Lily dare to knock on the cellar door and then go downstairs anyhow because Sherlock probably couldn't hear her.

"Ms. Adler, if you interrupt me one more time," Sherlock began as he whirled around, and stopped as he encountered Lily.

"How long has she been gone?"

"Irene left several hours ago. Mycroft's here in the sitting room."

"How long?"

"Maybe ten minutes."

The baby monitor in her pocket made a rustling noise and Lily set the small tray down next to a pile of Sherlock's notes.

"Try to come up within the next half hour, would you?"

"He can wait."

"He starts getting in the way and irritating Pan."

"Heaven forbid he irritate the dog."

"Sherlock."

"Oh all right." He huffed grouchily at Lily. "You're employed to watch Toby, not me."

Smiling beatifically, Lily walked towards the stairs.

"How do you know Irene doesn't pay me extra to keep you out of trouble?"

Sherlock snorted.

"You'd own a nicer pair of shoes."

"Thanks."

He ignored her as Lily went back up the stairs and caught Toby in time to prevent him from burning himself on the still-hot pan of scones, which she began moving over to a cooling rack and promised Toby he could have one in exchange for a picture for her to hang on the fridge. Managing a household with just Toby and the frequent Irene and Sherlock visits was interesting enough and she suspected that if Sherlock and Irene lived at the house even half the time, it would become twice as interesting, though the cleanup would probably be nightmarish.

_In the late morning, Irene met Marietta for coffee again._

_ "I'm impressed; he really is wrapped around your finger."_

_ "I could play politicians like fiddles and you're impressed that I've seduced a virgin?"_

_ Marietta shrugged, tossing her dark hair carelessly._

_ "Just because he's a virgin doesn't mean he's a fool."_

_ Irene snorted in a very unladylike manner._

_ "He's a fool when it comes to a great many things, sex being one of them."_

_ Marietta smiled._

_ "While I appreciate your gift...what do you want for him?"_

_ Irene smiled._

_ "Let me watch."_

_ Cocking her head to one side, Marietta raised an eyebrow._

_ "You were never one for watching, Irene. Always very hands-on."_

_ "I'm hands on in misbehaving, darling. This misbehavior goes a bit far for my skill set."_

_ "So you brought him to me."_

_ "You do have the rights to him first anyhow, and you're nearly as good at what you do as I am with my misbehavior."_

_ Smirking, Marietta sipped her coffee._

_ "Self-confidence hasn't been lost I see."_

_ "No reason for it to have been."_

_ "I heard an interesting tale about Karachi."_

_ "Exaggeration at best and full-out lies at worst."_

_ "Maybe you'll tell me what really happened?"_

_ "Unlikely, but we'll see."_

_ They sipped their respective beverages in silence for a while before Irene spoke again._

_ "Where do you want me to bring him?"_

_ "A stroll by the lake might do the trick...people freeze to death all the time you know, especially on colder nights."_

_ "This evening?"_

_ "Tomorrow evening would be better; I need to pick up a few things."_

_ "I don't think I'll have a problem convincing him to stay another night."_

_ "Seven-thirty sharp."_

_ "I'll do my best."_

_ "Do better."_

_ They parted politely and when Irene returned to Sherlock, she reviewed the conversation as Sherlock took inventory of the supplies he had collected._

_ "So what are you planning to do?"_

_ "I was hoping to turn her into the authorities."_

_ "There's no proof of anything. She'll get out and flee in a second and then we have to track her down again."_

_ "Killing her would cause additional problems."_

_ "Such as?"_

_ "Murders are investigated, Irene."_

_ "You think you're unable to outwit the Canadian police?"_

_ "Of course not."_

_ "What then?"_

_ "I've managed not to kill any of them yet; I've managed to get them killed indirectly. I would find it unpleasant to break that streak."_

_ Irene nodded slowly._

_ "When the time comes, one of us is going to have to do it. If I can't, I need to know that you can finish it."_

_ Sherlock closed his eyes for a few moments and when he opened them again, there was something off in his face, like something had shifted inside of him. _

_ "I can do it."_

_ "Fine."_

_ He was quiet for the rest of the day, a quiet that was somehow different than his usual brooding silence, and when they climbed into bed and Irene slid closer to him, Sherlock turned on his side, facing away from her. Feeling like she had been slapped, Irene rolled back over to the opposite side of the bed and closed her eyes. She could feel the tension in her body and had to resist rolling over again to inspect Sherlock's back. Tomorrow they were going to kill someone. A murderer, true and a woman whom had tortured and killed many people, but they were still plotting to end a life and the thought made her slightly sick to her stomach. When she did sleep, she didn't sleep well. Sherlock did not sleep at all._

_ When she awoke, he was curled in a chair, pensive and looking very much like a tightly coiled spring, ready to release at any second. She could trace the tension in his face, his back, his arms, even the way his socked feet curled over the edge of the seat of the armchair. _

_ "We'll need to be convincing tonight."_

_ "I know."_

_ "So if you look like that, you'll give us away for sure."_

_ Sherlock sighed in a hiss,_

_ "God what I wouldn't give for a hit."_

_ Startled, Irene turned to face him._

_ "What?"_

_ "You know of my past, I'm certain. Surely you are aware that addicts tend to revert to their old ways in times of stress."_

_ "Will cigarettes work?"_

_ He snorted._

_ "Hardly. But they won't hurt."_

_ "We're in a non-smoking room; you'll have to smoke in the bathroom."_

_ "Fine."_

_ "Any preferences?"_

_ "Not low-tar."_

_ She was gone and he allowed himself to pace, to try and walk the tension from his body. Despite trying to push it all aside, the time, the waiting, the plan to kill a woman all piled up in his mind and refused to allow him to relax, even slightly. His shoulders, neck and back all ached from the muscles being held tight and he knew that even a whole pack would not calm him enough to look like he didn't suspect the trap they were setting. This did not stop him from snatching the pack of Marlboros that Irene apologized for and the lighter she brought and rushing into the bathroom to light the first and smoke it to the filter, then the second and the third, chain-smoking until he could feel the nicotine in his bloodstream and it still wasn't enough._

_ After twenty minutes, then thirty, Irene knocked on the bathroom door, testing the knob to find it unlocked. Even with the vent fan on, the room was hazy with smoke and Irene breathed slowly, resisting the urge to take a cigarette from the pack._

_ "Is it helping?"_

_ His answer was curt, and negative._

_ "What is there left?"_

_ "I don't _**know**_, Ms. Adler. Is that what you want to hear? The great Sherlock Holmes can't manage to calm himself? Congratulations because here it bloody is."_

_ Irene snatched the cigarette from his grasp and dropped it in the sink, pressing his back against the door as she pressed her mouth to his._

_ He pulled away almost instantly._

_ "What are you doing?"_

_ "Dopamine, serotonin, they're pleasure chemicals, correct? With them rushing in your bloodstream, perhaps you will manage to calm down."_

_ "What are you proposing?"_

_ "As much as you'll let me."_

_ He studied her for a moment._

_ "How certain are you that this will work?"_

_ "If this doesn't work, then I'll get you cocaine."_

_ "You won't be able to."_

_ "Try me."_

_ "No sex."_

_ "Anything else?"_

_ He paused for a moment._

_ "I'll let you know."_

_ "Participate. It'll make things better for you."_

_ And then she was kissing him and after a minute or so, he was kissing her back. The smell of cigarette smoke and her shampoo, the taste of orange juice and some pastry she had eaten on her way to get cigarettes, the feel of her blouse under his palms which rested on her back, it all overwhelmed him. This was not the time to do this...but this was not sentiment. This was chemical. He inhaled and willed himself to feel the dopamine flooding into his system. _

_ Snogging against a door was all well and good, but Irene had bigger things in mind and she pulled him along with her out into the main room and half-pushed half-guided him onto the armchair, where she straddled his lap and continued the kisses. Her tongue had found its way into his mouth and as she stroked the inside of his mouth, she felt his tongue tentatively trying to respond in kind. Seizing a fistful of his shirt, she pulled him closer, feeling his hands instinctively press a little more firmly to keep a hold on her. _

_ This was a terrible idea, Sherlock found himself thinking. But he also found that the Woman was damnably correct about the dopamine. He could feel his body relaxing as it lost its focus on the stress and honed in on her and what she was doing to him. Her nails traces delicate paths across his arms, chest, neck, and back, scored lines across his scalp. Her teeth nipped at his lips and released to gently seize a place halfway up his neck before her mouth closed over it, sucking gently as he felt himself make a soft noise of approval entirely against his will. _

_ Her hands were cool and he could feel them unbuttoning his shirt, unbuttoning her own shirt, tracing the waistband of his trousers. He could feel them undoing his belt and pulling it off, dropping it to the floor. _

_ "Go on Mr. Holmes. Explore."_

_ Her voice was a low growl that sent a warm feeling up his spine and a pool of pleasant heat at the base of his skull._

_ "Explore what?"_

_ If he had noticed the hoarseness in his voice, he would have been embarrassed, but he did not. He was too busy appreciating how the chuckle that shook her chest vibrated pleasantly against his ribs._

_ "Me." There was a pause before she purred at him, teasingly. "Go on. Impress a girl."_

_ He did not know where his hands found their audacity, but there they were, tracing the edges of muscles in her arms, back, what parts of her legs he could touch. There they were, tentatively running over her breasts, tracing the curve of her neck, the pulse points at her wrists, carefully undoing her hair and running his fingers through it. It was almost as though these were someone else's hands._

_ He was becoming accustomed to the exploration when he felt her shift on his lap, friction warm across his groin. He gasped, barely audible._

_ "Irene, are you sure you—"_

_ "I'm quite sure," she replied, grinding her pelvis down onto his._

_ "This is," he began and she finished for him._

_ "A lap dance, Sherlock. No sex involved. I can even stop before you ejaculate if you wish."_

_ "Ejaculation is quite unli—" he didn't manage to finish the statement as Irene ground her hips down onto his again and he pressed his fingertips into her scalp, giving a huffing sort of sigh as he tried to even out his breathing, hold onto some form of control. _

_ It was fruitless. He could feel his body responding, the dopamine and serotonin rushing through his bloodstream, a vague fuzziness in his usual sharp perception as he took in everything about her. Her smell, her hair, the way her pupils dilated and her pelvis ground rhythmically, beautifully, against his own. He had taken care of his needs before but this was different. This was...something completely different. As the grinding increased in pressure and he watched her cheeks flush pink and his trousers grow tighter as another part of his anatomy strained for more contact, a more rational part of his mind reminded him that he had received enough pleasure to relax him. _

_ He didn't want it to be enough. He could feel the pleasure singing through his body, the hot desire in his lower abdomen, in his groin, in the bolts of heat running up his spine. Well aware of where this was going and how badly he wanted to be there, he took two deep breaths before hoarsely whispering,_

_ "Stop."_

_ She moaned softly, barely audibly, but she stopped. Her eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, her lips swollen and her cheeks pink._

_ "Finishing this," he began, twitching as his hips strained for continued motion, "Is not a good idea."_

_ "Why, precisely?" Her voice was as breathless as his._

_ "I am relaxed. Was that not the point of the exercise?"_

_ "Well I'm not relaxed now."_

_ He hesitated momentarily._

_ "I apologize, I did not mean for that to happen."_

_ Swallowing audibly, he carefully removed his hands from her and began to rebutton his shirt with clumsy slowness. Irene climbed off of his lap and nodded at the bathroom door._

_ "Excuse me then."_

_ It was only when he heard her soft moans from the bathroom, under the hiss of shower spray, that he retrieved a tissue box from the bedside table, unzipped his trousers, and completed what Irene had started. As the buzz of pleasure threatened to overwhelm him, he heard her voice, barely audible over splashing water, moan his name. It was that which undid him completely._

_ When Irene returned, showered and smelling faintly of nicotine, she found Sherlock Holmes sprawled on the bed staring at the ceiling._

_ "I brought a gun back when I went out."_

_ "Any blades?"_

_ "Two."_

_ It was quiet for hours after that, each person absorbed in their own thoughts. _

When Sherlock made it up to the parlor where Mycroft awaited him, he found Pan pacing and whining in the parlor doorway. Reaching down almost unconsciously, he scratched the corgi's ears and walked over to his brother.

"What is it?"

"You weren't careful enough."

"What?" Sherlock demanded, glaring at his elder brother. "Don't be ridiculous."

Drawing out a manila envelope, Mycroft slid a photograph out of it and set it on the table before Sherlock. There, though blurry, was unmistakably him guiding Irene towards a dark-colored car as Toby was balanced on her hip.

"Shit," Sherlock swore, frustrated.

"I would say so, yes," Mycroft remarked mildly.

"Where did you get this?"

"Tabloid reporter. Before he got to his paper, by the way. But this is problematic for your little secret."

Sherlock blew a puff of air from his nose.

"Why are you here? For thanks?"

"To tell you that if it happened once, it has happened before or will happen again."

"Meaning?"

"You might have to let your little secret...out."


	16. Reports

Reports

"I am not announcing the presence of Irene Adler and my son to all of England!"

"Of course not," Mycroft said smoothly, "But you may need to expose that you have a lover and a child. We can arrange for false information to slip through. The problem is, it must contain a grain of truth."

"Ms. Adler is _not_ my lover."

"The fact that you have a child seems to indicate otherwise, little brother."

Grimacing, Sherlock glanced at the door.

"I assume you came here with suggestions?"

"But of course."

"Which are?"

"I have selected several women for you to choose from, each resembling Irene Adler enough that if you are ever seen with Ms. Adler, it will be assumed that she is the woman you are with."

"And for Tobias?"

"We will make him younger. Babies look like other babies. We'll have you and whichever woman is selected pose with an infant—if people think that Sherlock Holmes has an infant son, then they will be much less likely to look for a toddler."

"And what about Lily and Tobias?"

"Security has been increased multiple times, Sherlock. I assure you that they will not be discovered."

Sherlock paused for a long time before nodding slowly.

"I'll need to tell Irene."

"Irene?"

"We have a son, Mycroft. I could hardly call her 'Ms. Adler' around him."

"Not because of any sentiment?"

"Well she is the mother of my son. I feel it may be fair to inform her that his existence, though a skewed view of it, will be public knowledge."

"Avoiding the question, are we Sherlock?"

"Being an insufferable blowhard, are we Mycroft?"

"Tomorrow morning I will come and pick you up. Seven."

"I won't be up until nine."

"Then it seems you'll arrive naked."

"I assume you'll have clothes for me."

"One should never assume, dear brother."

Mycroft showed himself out, ignoring Pan as he gave a halfhearted yip at the elder Holmes's retreating heels.

"Good dog," Sherlock nodded approvingly before returning to his basement laboratory, pausing only to text Irene.

_Mycroft came by. Things to inform you of this evening. -SH_

Lily went on with the day, preparing dinner and tidying up where she could (there was no cleaning woman and the cook had been let go with excellent references after Toby began sleeping through the night and Lily was awake enough to cook for herself. She and Toby played with blocks for awhile and practiced the ABC song with Toby signing along and Lily singing it in English, then French. Toby sat contentedly with a coloring book and a tin full of crayons as Lily pushed the chicken curry around in a saucepan and checked the rice cooker.

She was serving the curry and rice onto two plates, one large and one child-sized when the front door opened, then shut and Toby rushed off to see who was at the door with Pan trailing behind him. Irene's voice, low and amused, chuckled from the entryway and Lily pulled a third plate out of the cabinet to put food onto as she filled Toby's sippy cup up with milk and her own glass with water.

"Something smells lovely," Irene remarked as she entered the kitchen, Toby on her hip. Kate was a divine cook and Lily didn't come close to measuring up, but she cooked simple meals well and could follow a recipe, so Irene didn't complain and when she got a craving for something of more refined taste, she went out.

"Chicken curry and rice," Lily replied. "Water?"

"Please."

Setting her and Toby's plates onto the table, she pulled utensils from a drawer.

"Will you be eating with us?"

"I think so. Sherlock will be cross if I interrupt whatever he's fiddling with."

After wrestling Toby into a bib, they ate, Irene making idle conversation with Lily and telling Toby about her day. She knew better than to ask too many questions at dinner or he'd spend the whole time signing and very little time actually eating his food. They were finishing up, when Sherlock shuffled into the kitchen and studied the scene before announcing,

"No one told me there was curry."

"You don't like to be bothered when you're in the cellar," Lily reminded him.

"Usually you don't eat on a normal schedule," Irene added.

Toby gave his father a green-tinged smile that dribbled a little bit of curry juice onto his bib.

"Well I'd like some."

Lily sighed and stood up, retrieving a plate and fork before spooning curry and rice out and handing it all to Sherlock. Irene masked a chuckle by taking a sip of her water. Sherlock looked at the table, then glanced back into the hall before sitting next to his son.

"Anything interesting happen?" Irene asked him.

"Not other than Mycroft, and he's hardly interesting."

"Toby finished his food and after asking multiple times for a chocolate biscuit, Lily handed him one and began clearing up what she could without interfering with Irene and Sherlock's supper. Once it was all cleared up, she took Toby upstairs for a bath, leaving his parents to talk.

"What is it you wanted to tell me?"

"Tabloid reporter got a picture of us and Toby."

Irene swore under her breath before nodding. "What are we going to do about it?"

"He confiscated the photos but is under the impression that the information will be out and has arranged for me to be photographed with a woman who looks fairly similar to you and an infant, thinking if we skew the public perception, there will be no suspicion on you or Tobias."

"I'm coming with you."

"I hardly think that it's necessary."

"Regardless, I'm coming with you."

"Mycroft won't be pleased."

"I'm sure he'll manage. And you'll enjoy irritating him."

When Lily came back downstairs to finish clearing up the kitchen after reading Toby a story and putting him to bed, Sherlock and Irene were nowhere to be found. She didn't mind the quiet and took Pan on a walk before taking a long shower and turning in early with a book.

_"Are you ready?"_

_ Sherlock adjusted his jacket again and looked over at Irene, who was zipping up a parka over her clothes. She had already stashed a knife in her layers of clothing and resisted tapping her foot as Sherlock checked that everything he needed was on his person. His stance was tense and Irene regretted not waiting to relax him until closer to the actual time of meeting Marietta, but he needed to be sharp. _

_ After forcibly relaxing his body, Sherlock strolled over to Irene, smiling down at her with a smile she knew was forced but very few others would._

_ "Let's go, darling." He rumbled the last word with a sarcastic drawl and Irene suppressed a grin, glad he was at least ready to go take care of the last thread in Moriarty's web._

_ Down the hall, the stairs, out the door into the snow, barely listening as the clerk warned them that death by freezing was not uncommon this time of year. Irene nodded,_

_ "We're only going out to look at the stars for a bit."_

_ It seemed that they were by the lakeside all too soon, the snow powdery under their boots. The lake was frozen an inch or so thick, and it would only take another night or two to freeze it over until spring came. Sherlock wrapped an arm around Irene's waist and pointed skyward, whispering into her ear as he listened intently for Marietta. _

_ There was a soft buzz and a gust of wind as something grazed his cheek. Blinking, he raised his hand to his face and was astonished when it came away red. _

_ "Irene," he began, and she stepped away from him, looking back in the direction which the projectile had come. Another flew by, and when Sherlock moved to dodge whatever it was, it caught his shoulder. Reaching to pull it out, he found a tranquilizer dart. Because of all the layers on his outfit, it had not gone too deep but he began to feel slightly dizzy. Allowing himself to collapse onto the ground, he hoped it would be convincing enough that Marietta wouldn't attempt shooting again. _

_ Moments later, there was a darkly amused purr somewhere to his left._

_ "You actually brought him."_

_ "Did you think I wouldn't?"_

_ "I thought you would weigh your options a bit more. You were always cowardly."_

_ "I pick the winning side, dear." Irene's voice was cold and Marietta laughed again._

_ "It's good that you identified it correctly this time."_

_ He could feel the heat of someone leaning over him._

_ "Wind ruined the first shot, but I got him the second time."_

_ "What did you use?"_

_ "Wouldn't you like to know."_

_ "I would, actually."_

_ "It shouldn't last too long. Long enough to restrain him and have a little fun in the cold. The animals will enjoy his body after we've gone."_

_ "The clerk warned us about freezing out here. He might send someone out if we're gone too long."_

_ "I think I paid him enough to ignore you both."_

_ Irene raised a brow._

_ "You certainly have thought of everything."_

_ Sherlock groaned and Marietta drew a wire out of her coat and used it to bind his wrists, taking another to his ankles. Using a large rock, she walked over to the edge of the lake and smashed open a hole in the ice. _

_ "This won't be as slow as I'd like, but I assure you, you'll suffer Mr. Holmes."_

_ Dragging his body with some difficulty, she rested his head next to the hole in the ice and yanked off his knitted cap, drizzling half-frozen water over his hair, watching it begin to freeze to the ice next to the open hole._

_ "What are you going to do to him?"_

_ "What he did to me."_

_ "Meaning?"_

_ "Take away the thing he loves most in this world."_

_ "Being?"_

_ "His logical mind, clearly. There comes a point in the pain threshold where the brain can no longer process logic. And I will leave him there to die until he freezes or something comes to tear out his liver."_

_ Irene stepped back and gestured at Sherlock._

_ "Well let's see what you've got."_

_ "Irene," Sherlock groaned. "Irene, why?" His hair was nearly frozen to the ice._

_ "I don't take beatings well, Mr. Holmes. I prefer to give them."_

_ Marietta chuckled._

_ "That actually brings me to my final point."_

_ "Which would be?"_

_ Irene saw her shoulders shift slightly and she instinctively ducked as the blade came spinning from Marietta's fingers._

_ "You."_

_ The blade missed her by mere centimeters and as Marietta drew out another, Sherlock swept his feet under her, knocking her to the ground. _

_ "Irene," he rasped, and she picked up one of the tranquilizer darts from the ground and drove it into whatever part of Marietta she could fine—in this case, her left hand._

_ "Bitch," Marietta hissed, and Irene grabbed her arms, drawing handcuffs from a pocket and fastening them onto her. _

_ "I've been called worse."_

_ Sherlock attempted to get up, but his hair was frozen to the ice, effectively holding him in place. Unzipping Marietta's parka, Irene drew out several knives and a pistol and kicked them all out of the other woman's reach._

_ "Stay here for a moment, darling."_

_ Selecting a blade, she rushed over to Sherlock and cut the ties on his wrists, then his ankles._

_ "Do you want me to—" she began, but Sherlock shook his head._

_ "I can manage, thank you."_

_ Setting his jaw, he pulled his head violently away from the ice and winced as it slammed back down._

_ "Sherlock I can—" she began again and he gestured that he hand her the knife and began scraping the ice where it held his hair. Irene turned back to Marietta, whom was trying to maneuver herself into a standing position. With a shake of her head, Irene knocked the other woman's feet out from under her._

_ "What are you going to do, whore?" Marietta grinned. "You haven't got the stomach to get your hands dirty."_

_ Irene carefully picked one of Marietta's knives off of the ice and used it to cut open the legs of her trousers from ankle to thigh, then her shirt. She avoided her feet due to the fact that Marietta had a mean kick. _

_ "I don't have to make you bleed to kill you."_

_ "Coward," the killer scoffed. _

_ Irene shrugged. "Intelligent. If there's no blood to trace back to Sherlock or myself, then that makes pinning a crime on us awfully difficult, wouldn't you say?"_

_ "Exposure will kill you just as efficiently out here," Sherlock chimed in, walking up to stand beside Irene, his hair a bit ragged as he pulled the knitted hat back on._

_ "You'll never beat him all the way. He had plans for you, both of you, should you ever reappear. And maybe not today, but someday, one of us will crawl out of hiding and get the revenge he wanted."_

_ "You are the last of the web, Marietta," Irene crooned. "Revenge dies with you."_

_ Carefully, she lifted Marietta by the shoulders as Sherlock held her ankles and they dragged her over to the hole she had smashed with the intention of doing who-knows-what to Sherlock. He dropped her ankles and they splashed into the slushy, half-frozen water. Irene slid the rest of her body into it and Marietta began to shiver with cold._

_ "Go to hell," she hissed between chattering teeth._

_ "Give me a few years," Irene snarled back. "I'll see you there."_

_ They gathered up the knives, the tranquilizer darts, the pistol and as they walked around the lake back to the hotel, Sherlock pocketed the bullets and the slide, the remainder of the weapon into an outdoor garbage can. The clerk was not at the desk when they returned and the pair took that advantage to slip up the stairs and return to their room. _

_ "We can dispose of the blades on our way out of town," Sherlock rumbled._

_ Irene nodded as she made her way to the shower and turned the water on hot, stripping off her clothes to slip behind the curtain and into the glorious heat that seemed to melt into her skin, replacing the piercing cold of the outside. She was standing in the spray, letting water run down her back when she heard a low voice from just outside the shower curtain._

_ "May I join you?"_

_ Irene pulled the curtain back to reveal Sherlock Holmes, naked and shivering._

_ "I could hardly say no to that, could I?"_

_ The water was warm and when they had regained the heat that their bodies had lost outside in the Canadian ice and snow, Irene led him to the bedroom, onto the bed._

_ "I can't," he told her, his voice low and uncertain. "Not until it's all over."_

_ With a languidly slow kiss, Irene sighed against his mouth._

_ "When we leave this place and all of its memories behind..."_

_ "God, yes." _

_ "Is that a promise, Mr. Holmes?"_

_ He kissed her again and with great effort, climbed out of bed to pull on pants and loose flannel pajamas, leaving her to do the same. As she slipped back under the covers, clothed in soft warmth, Irene thought to herself that the kiss had felt very much like a 'yes'._

Mycroft arrived early and rang the bell, waking the entire house up. He was met by Lily in a robe, holding a screaming Toby on one hip while Pan barked shrilly at the door.

"Can I help you?" Lily asked.

"Here to pick up Sherlock."

"You could have let us know you were coming."

"Sherlock and Ms. Adler knew."

"And no one thought to inform me. Fantastic. Well I'm sure they'll be down in a moment."

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

Lily stared at him for a moment, letting the sound of Pan's barking and Toby's crying grow louder in the empty hall.

"I think not."

She closed the door and took her dog and her charge into the kitchen for breakfast.

When Sherlock and Irene met Mycroft at his car, he scowled at the pair of them.

"I only require my brother's presence."

"Sherlock agreed that I should come along," Irene informed him coolly.

Mycroft scowled at her.

"You really ought to chastise your help. She had atrociously bad manners this morning."

Irene raised an eyebrow at Mycroft before glancing over at Sherlock.

"Remind me to give Lily a bonus at the end of the week."

The car was blessedly silent the entire trip.


End file.
